


Is The Choice Yours To Make

by Southern_Breeze



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Life or Death choices, M/M, Self-Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Southern_Breeze/pseuds/Southern_Breeze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the kind of decision that would have been seen as altruistic and selfless. The type of act that would allow you to remembered fondly forever even after your demise, but Grell wasn't prepared to make that sort of sacrifice. However, was it the reaper's decision to make? Constructive criticism welcomed and appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Angel's Offer

**Is the Choice Yours to Make?**

  
Standard Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix Co., Ltd. Used without permission but with a lot of respect.

 **A/N: This story is divided into chapters that represent different points of view, so there is some overlapping between chapters, although it’s done to illustrate misconceptions and miscommunications. It should be also noted that chapters from Grell’s prospective (such as this one) use feminine pronouns for Grell while chapters from the POV’s from other characters may use masculine terminology. This isn’t meant to be disrespectful but goes back to the idea of different points of view, mindsets, etc. which is a major theme in this story.**

Chapter 1: The Angel’s Offer  
  
The rain, which had been falling steadily for most of the day, had dwindled into a pathetic drizzle as evening approached. The slate gray clouds had begun to break up slightly so that patches of the deep blue velvet of the sky and the occasional twinkling of a distant star could be seen, which were reflected in the various puddles that had gathered upon the streets. The lamplighters had already made their rounds, and the soft glow of the street lamps highlighted the gathering fog – creating patches of gold within the silver mist. Somewhere, in the distance, a dog barked pitifully and almost mournfully, but for the most part the night was quiet. Many would have referred to it as peaceful. Grell found it unbearably boring.  
  
She was standing silently on a roof, thankful that at least the rain had stopped. While she was in no danger of catching a cold, working in soggy, dripping clothes was unpleasant to say the least, and it took forever to dry her hair properly. For the moment she was cloaked so that she was invisible to human eyes, but she was partially tempted to cast aside that veil so that all that looked up could see her deadly beautiful, crimson image standing against the sky. She would be that dash of color and excitement that London so desperately needed tonight, but she decided against it for now as she kept her gaze on a dingy window across the street. Looking through the glass, she watched a small girl that lay sleeping in an uneasy manner upon a lumpy bed. She was small for her seven years of age, and she was going to die very shortly of the measles.  
  
It seemed like once every decade there was another outbreak of measles, although Grell was thankful that the number of infants who had died thus far seemed to be minimal. The victims were mostly small children, and that didn’t bother her nearly as much. Her desire to bare children and her attraction towards babies in general was well-known, but once children were able to walk and talk, her interest waned greatly. While she recognized that the parents mourned their children’s deaths considerably, for Grell it was just another task that had to be done – and an easier job than usual at that. The records of children were usually rather short and there wasn’t nearly as much paperwork to be completed.  
  
From her perch, the red reaper saw movement from the corner of her eye only to see Eric and Alan moving steadily across some nearby rooftops, although neither had noticed Grell. Alan was in the lead, but even Grell could see that his normally graceful movement were slightly stilted and slowed by the advancement of the Thorns. While Eric’s face was turned away from Grell, she was sure if she had frontal view of the taller reaper she would have seen the concern etched clearly into his features as he watched his partner – no doubt even more acutely aware of the physical changes and difficulties caused by the progression of the disease. Eric was not particularly gentle or protective by nature, at least not that Grell had ever been aware of, but Alan had changed all that. That was the nature of love.  
  
A myriad of emotions rose up within the flamboyant redhead as she watched her coworkers move silently out of sight. First and foremost, she genuinely felt sorry for Alan and his predicament. While she and the younger reaper had not seen eye to eye on a few occasions, Alan had always been respectful, and Grell rather liked him as an individual. He had a quiet, serious way about him that was tempered with gentleness and caring. There was just something about his presence that seemed to bring the best out in those around him, such as was evident with Eric – and he could do this by saying and doing very little. It was a true and rare talent.  
  
Yet there was a tiny part of Grell that couldn’t be completely sympathetic to Alan’s plight. After all, you only contracted the Thorns of Death by getting wrapped up in emotions concerning the soul you were supposed to reap and not being careful. In one sense, it was Alan’s own fault that he was sick, and Grell couldn’t help but think how this sort of situation would never happen to her. Although she was often accused of having no filter when it came to expressing her mind, Grell had enough sense not to give voice that that particular thought. In truth, she felt a twinge of guilt in blaming Alan for his illness but was honest enough with herself that she couldn’t deny the thought’s existence.  
  
Finally, she was a little envious of Alan for he had found a true and passionate love – something that she feared would be forever beyond her grasp. Even if some stranger that knew nothing of his relationship with Eric had seen the two tonight, the connection would have been evident with even a passing glance. When Alan did eventually die, Eric would be heartbroken and probably inconsolable for weeks, months, and perhaps even years. Even if he did finally move on to another relationship, it would be a poor substitute for nothing would ever take the place within his heart that Alan had fit so easily and well. That was the kind of love that she wanted. It was the kind of love written up in the famous plays and most heart wrenching poetry. Why did it always dance just beyond her grasp and tease her passionate heart?  
  
Of course, Eric wouldn’t be the only to grieve. Alan was well-liked and even William had taken it upon himself to give ill reaper easier assignments and let him work with Eric on jobs that only required a single worker. It was actually a major sign of kindness and consideration from their supervisor. When the Thorns did finally end Alan’s life, he would be missed and remembered by many, which left Grell with a singular, burning question.  
  
Would the same be true if she was the one dying instead of Alan?  
  
Ronald would miss her no doubt because the two had grown rather close. They bickered and teased one another much of the time, but it was just a way to show that they cared for one another. Alan would miss her as well, although she wasn’t quite as sure about Eric. There was times that she was nearly convinced that he almost hated her. As for William, Grell loved to imagine that he would throw himself on her casket (specially handcrafted by the Undertaker of course) with tears streaming down his face. He would wail about how he had always loved her but had never summoned the courage to say anything. Perhaps when the time came to lay her in the ground, he would jump down into the open grave and insist that they be buried together because he never wanted to be separated from her again.  
  
Grell knew, however, that this was just a fantasy as she carefully folded up the daydream and tucked it away in her heart. At best, Will would probably just make a comment about being short another worker and how her untimely passing had only resulted in more paperwork. She ran her long fingers through her scarlet strands as she brought her thoughts around full circle. It most likely wouldn’t be the same if it was her instead of Alan, but a small part of her wished she could see how everyone would react if their roles were reversed.  
  
“That’s an odd train of thought, little reaper,” a soft voice announced so close that warm breath tickled Grell’s ear.  
  
Grell gasped and spun around only to see an angel standing far too close for comfort. “How did you know what I was thinking?” she managed to ask, as she narrowed her eyes to closely examine the white-winged, heavenly creature.  
  
At first glance, the angel appeared to be an attractive woman with a slender build. She had silvery blonde hair that fell just past her shoulder in soft waves and ice blue eyes, but Grell knew that angels could control and alter their physical appearance. “Some angels have different abilities,” she answered, her comforting and somewhat maternal smile never leaving her face, “Just as some reapers do. You know something about that, do you not?”  
  
Grell knew that the angel was referring to her own ability to alter her own appearance. While it wasn’t unheard of among reapers, Grell had a natural ability and talent that surpassed the most experienced elders. Of course, even Grell was limited as she couldn’t change the shape of her own body, but she had no desire to dwell on that issue at the moment. “Why are you here?” Grell demanded. She moved a few steps back as she readied her chainsaw. Her old, sharp-toothed friend had already been in her grasp while waiting for the child to die, but she was prepared to use sooner if it was necessary.  
  
The angel laughed melodiously. “You don’t need to fear me,” she said, “I am here to comfort the mother of the child whose soul you were sent here to reap. She is a godly woman, and I have come to answer one of her prayers tonight. Her other prayer was for her child to live, but, as we both know, the child’s fate had already been determined.” She tilted her head slightly as few strands of hair shifted to cover one eye slightly. “You may call me Ivory.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning on calling you anything,” Grell mumbled as she turned back to watch the child.  
  
Ivory laughed the same sweet laugh. “I know you are the grim reaper known as Grell Sutcliff,” she stated, “You’re not exactly unknown even among the angels because of a few unfortunate…deeds.” Ivory paused slightly, and Grell suppressed a laugh. It was odd to see an angel act so uncertain, but Grell supposed that her past could give anyone reason to pause. “But I approached you,” Ivory finally continued, “Because of those peculiar thoughts that were running through your mind a few minutes ago. You were curious as how things would be if you were the one dying of that rare disease. What was it called? Thorns of Death? Anyway, I think I could arrange that for you.”  
  
“Arrange what?” demanded Grell.  
  
“It has been fated that a reaper will die of the Thorns,” Ivory explained, “but that doesn’t mean it has to be any particular reaper. It only has to be a reaper in general. Do you understand what I’m saying?”  
  
This time Grell didn’t even attempt to hold back as she threw back her head and laughed madly up towards the night sky. After a minute, she lifted her glasses slightly and wiped a stray tear away from her eye – delighted to note that the angel looked positively horrified. “And everyone acts like I’m crazy,” Grell said, “Maybe I am curious how everyone would act if I was the one dying, but I’m not going to give away my life to find out.” Just as she finished speaking, her sensitive ears heard the child had just taken her last breath. “Now, if you excuse me I have a job to do.”  
  
Without another word, Grell leapt forward into the open air as she effortlessly created a portal. A second later, she landed in the room next to the child’s bed and quickly glanced around. The mother was sitting a little off to one side, sobbing quietly, but apparently she or someone else in this house had already come to terms with the fact the girl was probably going to die that night. The few pictures on a nearby table were already facedown and a heavy black cloth had been thrown over the single mirror. Almost casually, Grell revved the chainsaw, bringing it to life, and brought it down unto the chest of a child so the records could spill into the air. The action that would have undoubtedly looked brutal if the mother could have seen it.  
  
“You would be like a beautiful, tragic heroine,” an all too familiar voice proclaimed, “remembered throughout all of time. Wouldn’t that be nice? Wouldn’t it be nice to never be forgotten?”  
  
Grell glanced over her shoulder and saw that Ivory had positioned herself beside of the mother and had wrapped her wings about the grieving woman. In truth, it would be nice to be eternally remembered, but Grell wasn’t about to openly admit that to the angel. She bared her sharp teeth and allowed her green-yellow eyes to take on a dangerous glint. “Are you still here?” she asked in a tone of false calmness, “I wouldn’t stand too close. I tend to get a little reckless at times and it would be such a shame if I were to accidentally clip your wings.” She swung her chainsaw for emphasis as she spoke.  
  
Ivory didn’t budge nor did she seem the least bit frightened. “I’m only making this offer because I like to help others, and you need my help. How do you think you’ll be remembered now? At best, you’ll be thought of as a freak but that’s only until you’ve been forgotten, and that’s really the worst part. Is there any point of existence if you’re never remembered? How does anyone even know if you ever lived?”  
  
Those words did hit a little too close to Grell’s fears, but she only stood calmly as she watched the record of the short life of the child on the bed. “Nothing to note,” she mumbled to herself, stamping the file and collected the record. Glancing over her shoulder, she made her sure her mask of indifference was in place before speaking to Ivory. “Go sell your spiel to someone else,” she said, “because I’m not buying it.” She turned to create a portal so that she could go home. She needed to rest and forget all about this night.  
  
“Wait!” Ivory called, “Please hear me out. I have one final offer then.”  
  
Grell knew that she should leave, but despite her mind instructing her to leave this house and forget all about this insistent angel, she paused. “Okay,” she agreed, “What is it?” She crossed her arms in a rather bored manner.  
  
“Go home and sleep,” Ivory stated, and Grell couldn’t help but wonder if she was reading her mind again. “Don’t decide now with your words. Decide while you slumber so your thoughts are unclouded by needless worries. If you still think everything is at it should be, then nothing will have changed. You will remain healthy and your friend will die.”  
  
Grell shook her head and her hair whipped about her like a red veil. “It won’t do any good for me to think about it my sleep,” she said, “I’m not changing my mind.” With those words, she created the portal and returned back to her own realm. As the portal closed behind her, however, she heard the final words of the angel drift through as if carried by an unseasonably cool breeze in the heat of summer.  
  
“Just think about what I said. Don’t decide with only your mind, but let your heart have a say in the matter as well. Think of the good it will do and how much you will learn. Think of how you will be remembered.”  
  
“Crazy angel,” Grell mumbled as she ran a hand through her hair. Tired both physically and mentally, she slowly made her way to the apartment. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, she could forget all about Ivory and her ridiculous offer.


	2. Chapter 2: A Cry in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the middle of the night, Alan cries out in pain. Is this the end or is a beginning?

A/N: I appreciate all the people who have read my story so far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 2: A Cry in the Night

It was a scream, a dreadful cry, which jerked Eric from his thin and restless sleep and caused him to bolt into an upright position in bed. Instinctively, his hand shot out to grab his glasses from the nearby nightstand as any vestiges of sleep was immediately wiped from his mind. Terror gripping his heart, he turned and looked beside him. A part of him had already recognized the source of the scream, but he couldn’t help but wish that he had been mistaken.  
  
A deep and dull blue light shone through the large window of the bedroom. There was no true night or day within the reaper realm as it was only thinly connected to the mortal world, but there was a type of faux night in order to help the reapers to sleep. It had something to do with circadian rhythm of bodies that still remembered being human even if their brains had forgotten. Some found the perpetual nightlight annoying, but Eric was thankful for this light for it allowed him to see the room and the thin body stretched out on the bed.  
  
Alan was dressed in only a pair of thin pajama bottoms, and it pained Eric to see the points of the young reaper’s ribs standing out against his pale skin. He tried so hard to hide how sick he truly was, but without his normal clothing it was plain to see that he had lost weight. The black, vine-like trails about his arm and chest, the mark of the disease slowly destroying his body, stood against that translucent flesh like a contemptible tattoo, but it was Alan’s face that really captured Eric’s attention.  
  
His lips were pulled from his teeth in a grimace of pain as a soft hiss seeped through the clenched teeth. His eyes were tightly shut as tears gathered in the corners like tiny, imperfect diamonds that threatened to spill down his pale cheeks at any second. “Alan!” Eric screamed, grabbing onto one of his companion’s hands which was twisted into something like a claw, “Alan!” There was no response, and Eric feared that Alan was so deeply drowning in a well of pain that he was beyond hearing at this moment.  
  
Eric jumped from the bed, almost tripping on the cover which had fallen to the floor, and jerked on a pair of pants he found nearby. Without pausing to put on anything else, he hurried to the far side of the bed and scooped Alan up into his arms – his frail lover feeling like not much more than a child in his embrace. “Just hang in there,” he whispered to Alan, as he raced from the room, “I’ll get you help soon.”  
  
Their apartments were situated in a small, straight row, but Alan’s was located the closest to the hospital. It wasn’t his original assignment, but after it was discovered that he had contracted the Thorns, he was immediately relocated. Eric was very thankful for this since this wasn’t the first time he had to rush Alan to see a doctor. It also probably going to be the last time unless…No! He wasn’t going to even entertain that thought. His bare feet slapped rhythmically on the sidewalk as he ran straight to the glass doors that lead to the emergency center of the hospital.  
  
Calling it an actual hospital might have been a bit of an exaggeration. Since reapers were so rarely ill and even serious injuries usually didn’t require much in the way of care, it was actually only a small structure that had been erected as an afterthought and wedged between two other buildings. It was typically all but deserted, and tonight was no exception. As Eric ran inside, the nurse at the main desk looked up at him and her eyes immediately fell upon Alan’s still body. Eric had seen this nurse many times before – a pretty girl with brown, curly hair that always seemed to be trying to escape the professional bun on the back of her head. Although she had introduced herself before, Eric could never seem to remember her name.  
  
“Bed one’s open,” she stated, pointing with her hand, “I’ll contact Dr. Wells immediately. Does he need anything for pain?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Eric answered, as he carried Alan to nearby room, “but I think so. He seems to be hurting.” He gently laid the younger reaper on the bed, and the tears that had been threatening to fall since first waking up to Alan’s scream now burst free from their emotional dam. He leaned against the side of the bed as he wept, but a part of him felt like he might collapse onto the unforgiving floor. He wouldn’t let himself fall, however, because Alan needed him to be his strength. Despite what he might feel inside at this moment, he would remain strong. He had to remain strong.  
  
The nurse appeared in the room with a few items on a small cart. “I’m going to get an I.V. started and get some medicine for pain in him,” she explained, “Dr. Wells should be here shortly.” She smiled gently at Eric before turning to prepare what she needed for the I.V. – her errant curls bouncing around her face with the movement.  
  
Eric nodded as he turned his attention back to Alan, not wanting to watch as the needle pierced his flesh. He pushed back the soft, brown hair from his forehead, and was disturbed to find how cold and clammy Alan’s skin felt. He hoped that the doctor would hurry.  
  
As if on cue, Dr. Wells walked into the room briskly and moved over to Alan’s side to examine his patient. He was a big man, several inches taller than Eric, with broad, intimidating shoulders and solid build. Closely cropped black hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a competent and professional appearance, but Eric had seen him smile in the past and knew that his face could display a jovial warmth that seemed in direct contrast to his bulk. Dr. Wells was not smiling, however, as he looked over Alan. Quickly, he turned to glance up at Eric.  
  
“Please step out to the waiting room, Mr. Slingby,” he instructed, “Well do well we can to help Alan.”  
  
Eric wanted to argue and insist on staying by Alan’s side, but he knew that he would only be in the way. Nodding submissively, he walked to the doorway but paused to take another look back at the bed. “Please be okay,” he whispered in a soft tone that was only barely audible, “I love you.”  
  
With a defeated posture, he walked down the tiled hall as his mind became consumed with thoughts and worries. When he had told Alan he had loved him, it was the first time he had ever admitted his feelings in front of others – and even then he had done so too quietly for anyone to even hear. He couldn’t understand why he had so much trouble just saying how he felt. It wasn’t as if their relationship was a secret, and there were no rules about co-workers dating, but a small part of couldn’t help but feel like he still needed that little bit of a shield masking his vulnerable side.  
  
From the waiting room, he saw a few more nurses and other attendants hurry into Alan’s room. For a brief moment, he heard their footfalls echoing down the long hall but the sounds seemed to be swallowed up by the greedy and oppressive silence. Nervous and desperate for sounds, Eric began pacing back and forth in the waiting area. The sound of his bare feet upon the cool tile was rhythmic as a heartbeat, but it still did little to combat the pervasive quiet.  
  
After what felt like an eternity, Eric heard someone walking towards him, and he turned to see it was Dr. Wells. His breath caught in his throat as he expected the worst, but then he saw that the doctor was smiling slightly. Although his happiness seemed tempered by another emotion, perhaps confusion or uncertainty, the smile greatly relieved Eric.  
  
“Is he going to be okay?” he asked as soon as the doctor was close enough.  
  
“Young Mr. Humphries is doing much better then when you brought him here,” Dr. Wells answered quickly.  
  
“Thank goodness,” Eric replied, “Can I see him?”  
  
“In a minute,” answered the doctor, “but there is something else. I can’t be sure just yet, but I can’t find a trace of the Thorns of Death.” He looked at Eric directly, his small yet intelligent eyes sparkling from behind his glasses. “I think our young friend has been cured.”  
  
“What?” Eric cried, “But how? I thought that the disease was incurable.” His mind also added fatal as a part of the description, but his tongue refused to comply.  
  
“We honestly don’t know much about the disease. It’s so rare and there only a couple of documented cases,” explained Dr. Wells, “As I said, it’s too early to be sure, but I think we might have a miracle on our hands.” He smiled brightly. “Now, I think Mr. Humphries might be eager to see you or would you rather stand out here in the cold hall talking to an old goat like me?”  
  
Eric laughed his first genuine, honest laugh in far too long as he ran back to the room. Tears of relief clouded his vision, but he could still see Alan sitting up in bed. His skin had better color than Eric had seen in a long time, and the ebony lines twisted about his chest and arm had faded. He looked just like the Alan he had seen so long ago – fresh from the academy.  
  
Just like the Alan he had fallen in love with.  
  
He ran into the room and through his arms around the smaller reaper, allowing his tears to fall down his face. He couldn’t imagine being as happy as he was in this moment.  
  
“I sure hope you’re Eric,” Alan said in a joking tone, “because I can’t tell. Someone forgot to bring my glasses with us to the hospital.”  
  
“Maybe this will help you know it’s really me,” stated Eric as he leaned forward to give him a warm kiss.  
  
“Well, you’re a good kisser,” Alan said, “but I’m still not sure if you’re Eric. Maybe we should try again?” He tilted his head back expectedly.  
  
“Maybe you two should wait until we get Mr. Humphries moved into an actual room,” Dr. Wells said from the doorway with a chuckle.  
  
Alan blushed but Eric couldn’t help but laugh. It was strange to him how just a short while ago he had been almost too embarrassed to even say that he loved Alan aloud, and now they were kissing in front of the hospital staff. It’s odd how things can change so quickly, but it was clear that the overwhelming emotions of this night had broken down quite a few of his walls.  
  
“When can Alan come home?” questioned Eric.  
  
“I’d like for him to stay with us for at least a day so we can monitor his condition,” Dr. Wells replied, “but I don’t look for him to have to stay beyond that.”  
  
One more day seemed like such a long time to wait, but Eric was too overjoyed to argue. “I’ll stay by his side no matter how long he has to stay here, although I can’t wait for him to come home. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Actually,” Alan said, “Could you run home and get my glasses for me? Oh, and I need you to tell William why I won’t be in. Could you please do that? I’d really appreciate it.”  
  
Eric was uncertain about leaving him. “I’m not sure if I should,” he said in a hesitant tone. It was irrational, but he couldn’t help but fear that Alan’s health would immediately deteriorate the moment he left his side.  
  
“It will take some time to get Mr. Humphries situated in a room,” Dr. Wells spoke up, “We haven’t had to use one of the overnight rooms for some time, so we need to get one cleaned up. Go ahead and do what you need to do, and we’ll take care of everything here. When you get back, Mr. Humphries will be in a room and then you’ll be able to have a proper visit. Does that sound okay?”  
  
“I guess,” Eric conceded, although still not completely convinced. However, he didn’t want to deny Alan’s simple request, and he had to admit what Dr. Wells had said made sense. He leaned forward and kissed Alan’s forehead. “I’ll be back soon.”  
  
“I’ll be waiting,” Alan replied.  
  
Still reluctant to leave, Eric left the hospital slowly but his heart was gaining new strength with every step. Alan was going to be all right. He knew it. Never before had he truly realized how much his love meant to him, but he knew that he would make any sacrifice to keep Alan safe.  
  
The horizon of their realm was slowly lighting with a fake sunrise, and Eric felt truly like he was standing on the threshold of a new beginning. The nightmare was finally over.  
  
But why did he fear that a new one was about to take its place?


	3. Chapter 3: New Beginning or Dead End?

A/N: As always, thanks to everyone who has read my story. It’s greatly appreciated. This chapter turned out a bit longer than my previous ones, but I still liked how it turned out.

Chapter 3: New Beginning of Dead End?

The morning light slipped through the window and caressed her sleepy form like a lover, gently coaxing her to open her eyes, yet Grell found it hard to actually wake up. A dull ache pounded in her head and she felt unusually tired. Sleep seemed to be beckoning to her drowsy mind and she was tempted to let it lead her back to the land of dreams, but she knew that she had to get up and face the day. She had never cared much for mornings, but this one seemed particularly irritating as she sat up in bed.  
  
Casually, she retrieved her glasses from their usual place and positioned them on her face; pulling up her hair with her left hand while adjusting the chain about her neck with her the right. She did this without actual thought as she was so accustomed to the act, but something today felt peculiar. Her arms felt unusually heavy and there was a dull ache in her wrists. She rubbed at them absently as she slid her legs out from underneath the covers and stood up.   
  
Her legs felt heavy as well, and Grell frowned slightly as she made her way to the bathroom. She had gone to bed at a reasonable time the night before and had slept fairly well aside from a few dreams. She couldn’t actually remember what the dreams had been about for the images seem to fade away in the morning light like feathery wisps of smoke, but she didn’t think that whatever she had dreamed had any real significance. Running a hand through her untamed scarlet locks, she stepped into the bathroom and glanced up into the mirror.  
  
With a gasp she jumped back from the reflective glass as her back slammed into the doorframe and she saw the rather sickly looking redhead in the mirror do the same. Her mind always refused to comprehend it, but she knew that it was the truth. The face staring back at her with wide, frightened eyes was her own, although the image had changed considerably since the night before.  
  
Her fair skin had an unhealthy gray undertone and seemed especially dark around her eyes and the edges of her mouth. The eyes staring back at her appeared weak with a slight gray tint to the whites and the two-toned irises weren’t nearly as bright as usual. What was worse was that her hair, that untamed, fiery mane that was her greatest treasure and source of pride, had seemingly lost a bit of both its luster and bounce. “What happened?” she asked aloud.  
  
Suddenly, the answer bloomed within her mind like a black rose in a desolate field as she remembered her encounter with Ivory. She wasn’t sure how she had even managed to forget it, as she brought up her trembling hands to unbutton her silk top. There was no way that she had the Thorns. She had repeatedly told the angel that she didn’t want to take Alan’s place. She had never even agreed to make the final decision in her sleep – at least she never agreed outright. Of course, she had to reluctantly accept that she had never outright denied the last request either.  
  
The silk top, a rather recent purchase, was dark pink with a design of red roses growing atop green, thorny stems. She had loved it the moment she had first laid eyes on it, but now it seemed like some sort of sick irony as she pulled aside the material and saw the telltale vine-like pattern on her chest. There was no denying it. She had the Thorns of Death. She was going to die.  
  
Feeling much weaker under the weight of this dreadful realization, she numbly made her way to sit down on the edge of the tub. The porcelain was cool beneath her, but she barely registered the sensation as her mind twisted and swirled – thoughts becoming entangled and intertwined. She should not be in this situation. She had no agreed, and there was no reason that she would have changed her mind in her sleep. Even if what Ivory had said had bothered her, she wouldn’t at let it sway her decision. At least, that’s what she had thought. Apparently, she didn’t know her own mind as well as she thought.  
  
Slapping her palms down, a bitter smile graced her face as she laughed softly. So this was what she had chosen? So be it, but there was no way she was going to mope about whining and whimpering over her decision like a coward. With a sudden strength and resolve she stood and walked over to face the mirror once more. She was a lady, and the leading actress of the melodrama of her life so there was no way she was going to bow out now. No, she was going to leave everyone with a performance so fantastic, they would demand an encore – although, with the final scene that seemed fated to her, an encore might be just a tad difficult to manage.  
  
With this new plan in mind, she set about the task on making herself look as she usually did each day. After all, the leading lady should never appear anything less than flawless. It took a bit more foundation than usual, and she had to use concealer around her eyes and mouth, but the overall effect was passable. Her eyes still looked tired, but with a few touches of makeup around the false eyelashes, she truly doubted that anyone would even notice. The lack of bounce in her hair was a bit harder to conceal, but she finally opted to wear it in a high ponytail. The way it moved and swayed when she walked would no doubt make it look just as lively as ever, even though it wasn’t a style she usually preferred. After doing all this, she got dressed and was pleased to see she looked like her old self. She was already later than usual for work when she walked out the door, but the extra time spent had been worth it.  
  
It was difficult to walk about in a carefree manner with the tiredness in her limbs and the occasional tinge of pain shooting up her right arm into her chest but a good performance wasn’t necessarily an easy one. She did have a newfound respect for Alan, however, because he rarely showed how poorly he was feeling except when he was in the midst of one of the more painful attacks. It was likely he felt this way every day, but he still did all the work assigned to him without complaint. Perhaps the boy was a better actor than Grell had given him credit for, but she still could give him a lesson or two. Smiling brightly, she walked into the dispatch office proudly and boldly; the clacking of her heels announcing to all within earshot of her arrival. Without slowing her stride, she walked past the open door of William’s office.  
  
“You’re late, Sutcliff,” her supervisor announced.  
  
Smiling, she turned and looked inside the office and noticed that William hadn’t even looked up towards her. She could see the top of his head – his dark, perfectly combed hair shining in the light, as he looked over some papers on his desk, but even without looking he had still known it was her. She supposed that her footfalls were unmistakable, but it was more than that. They had known each other for so long. Even though their lives stretched for so long that time became practically meaningless, Grell simply couldn’t imagine her existence without William. It went beyond the love that she felt for him, although that was real enough. It was like they simply belonged side by side because that was the way it had always been. “Oh, Will,” she crooned, “You know you can’t rush a lady. Besides, I’m fashionably late.”  
  
Will raised his head and started to say something – no doubt a hurtful comment about how she wasn’t really a lady, but then paused as he simply looked at her. For a brief, panicked moment Grell was convinced that he could tell something was wrong. She had already decided that she wanted no one to know that she had taken on Alan’s illness. A true heroine never reveals her sacrificial acts for the sympathy and admiration of others. She wanted to hide the disease for as long as possible; perhaps right up until her final moments.  
  
Finally, Will simply adjusted his glasses and she felt relief to see that he simply looked annoyed with her. She realized that she shouldn’t have been concerned. Will probably wouldn’t have noticed it if she had been walking down the hall in nothing but her boots except to chastise her for non-regulation attire. “You’re incorrigible, Sutcliff,” he announced, “You’ll be on desk duty today.”  
  
“But Will,” she whined, pushing out her bottom lip.  
  
“My decision is final, Sutcliff,” he stated, “Now go to your desk and get to work. There’s already a mountain of paperwork stacked there precariously and I’d like to see you get at least some of it done for once.”  
  
She sighed dramatically and nodded in a falsely meek manner before heading towards her own office. In truth, she was somewhat relieved to be chained for the desk. While she almost always preferred fieldwork, her body felt too tired and sore to do much today. Stepping inside her office, she shut the door for a little privacy and took her seat behind her desk. Will was right about the mountain of paperwork, and she eyed the stack was very little enthusiasm.  
  
Suddenly her door floor open and a very excited looking Ronald filled the doorframe. His eyes sparkled like a small boy’s on Christmas morning as he smiled brilliantly at her. “Hey, Senior Sutcliff!” he shouted, “Have you heard the good news?”  
  
“You’re supposed to knock, you brat!” she retorted with mock anger, throwing a pencil in his general direction. She hadn’t really been trying to hit him, and the pencil bounced harmlessly off the wall.  
  
Ronald didn’t even seem to have heard her. “Alan’s better!” he shouted, “Somehow he’s gotten better. He doesn’t have the Thorns anymore!” Eric walked up behind Ronald and smiled at Grell. He looked a little disheveled as if he had simply thrown on the same clothes he had worn yesterday, and the blonde part of his hair was in need of being combed, but the smile on his face could rival the brilliance of the sun.  
  
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Grell exclaimed. She wasn’t particularly surprised, of course, but she was still happy to hear that Alan was indeed better. For all she had known, Ivory had lied and had caused her to become ill while still leaving Alan to die. “Where is he now?”  
  
“He’s still in the hospital,” Eric answered, “The doctors want to observe him for a while, but he might get to come home tomorrow.”  
  
“I told Eric we need to throw Alan a party when he comes back,” explained Ronald.  
  
“You’re always looking for an excuse for a party,” Eric said, but it was obvious that he wasn’t upset.  
  
“Oh, that’s a great idea, Ronnie,” Grell agreed. She placed her hands on the desk and started to stand, but a sharp pain shot up her arm. Rocking back quickly, she distributed her weight to her feet to remove the pressure from her wrists. “Would you like me to make something for the party?”  
  
Eric’s face darkened and it looked like a cloud passing over the sun. It was as if he suddenly remembered who he was talking to in such a friendly manner. “No,” he answered simply, “We don’t need you to do anything.” He turned his attention back to Ronald, “I really need to be hurrying back to Alan. He’ll be looking for me.” He nodded a quick goodbye to the blonde before leaving.  
  
“Why does Eric act like that around you?” Ronald asked once the taller reaper was out of sight.  
  
Grell sat back down carefully and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she said, “but we’ve never really gotten along. There were a few times that we’ve talked and had great conversations, but the next time I run into him, he acts like that.”  
  
Ronald started to say something else, but William suddenly appeared and pinned the younger reaper with a sharp gaze that said, without words, that he needed to be some other place at that moment. The younger reaper ran a hand quickly through his bi-colored hair before mumbling a quick goodbye and disappearing down the hall leaving Grell alone with William.  
  
“Sutcliff, where is the paperwork for last night’s reaping?” he demanded.  
  
Grell raised an eyebrow. “That’s not even due until later,” she said, “Why so impatient, darling?”  
  
“I’m not your darling,” he stated, “And it’s due today. It shouldn’t take you that long to finish the necessary documents on a simple job like that.”  
  
“Fine. Fine,” she conceded, “I’ll get right on it.” She turned around in her swivel chair to grab some papers from a nearby cabinet, when the first attack of the Thorns truly hit her. It was like being stabbed in the chest by a sharp night that was being turned again and again like a corkscrew. She was glad that her back was to William, because she knew her eyes were squeezed tightly in pain and she hated to think what her face might look like right now.  
  
“What are you doing?” he demanded.  
  
“Just grabbing the papers,” she managed to reply, struggling to keep her voice steady. The pain slowly subsided, and she turned back around and flashed her most cheerful smile towards William.  
  
He stared at her for another moment before turning to leave the room. She watched him take a few steps, but something inside her was crying out and demanding that she speak. Just before he left the room, she called out to him.  
  
“William?” she asked. It was not her usual voice. This voice was naked and bare, and it frightened her a little to hear it spill past her lips.  
  
“What is it, Sutcliff?” he asked without turning around.  
  
“There never was a chance for us, was there?”  
  
He turned back only slightly, and she was unable to read the expression on his face. “What do you mean?” he questioned, “If you mean an ‘us’ as in a couple, then no there never was a chance.” Pausing, he took a deep breath. “Even ignoring the fact that you are my subordinate and any relationship between us would be highly inappropriate, we are just too different. You are simply chaos, Sutcliff, and I don’t care for chaos in my world.”  
  
Grell nodded slowly. “I guessed as much,” she admitted softly.  
  
William paused for another moment, and she thought that perhaps he had something else to say, but then he simply left. All alone, she got up and crossed the room to close the door, her mind slowly going over every detail of what had just happened. So, there it was – the simple truth. She had been deceiving herself for all of this time. She recognized that she had known how Will felt, or at least she should have known. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t made his feelings perfectly clear in the past, but a part of her had clung to that little piece of hope like a piece of driftwood in the middle of a turbulent ocean. Now it was gone and she was left to drown.  
  
Wearily, she went back to her desk and sat down heavily in her chair as she thought about her situation. Maybe this was all for the best. Alan had someone who truly loved him and who would miss him terribly when he was gone, while she was always alone. Besides, instead of being thought of as some sort of psychotic freak with no capacity for rational thought, her final act would be seen as one of selflessness and bravery. It was like Ivory had said. Now she had a chance to be remembered as something more – to never be forgotten. Maybe this was how things were supposed to be. Maybe. Maybe.  
  
Now if only she could convince herself of that.


	4. Chapter 4: Order and Chaos

A/N: Here is the next chapter. This was actually difficult to write but hopefully it all turned out well. This chapter has the most overlapping with the previous chapters. 

Chapter 4: Order and Chaos

The dispatch office was still and quiet. The well-waxed hallway gleamed in the overhead lights as row after row of closed doors stood like silent sentinels guarding against unwanted intrusions. Only William’s door was open as he sat wordlessly at his desk, carefully going over paperwork. The occasional scratching of his pen as he signed a document and the endlessly ticking of the clock on the wall were the only sounds to be heard. It was precisely the way William liked his mornings to begin.

Routines were comfortable, and he preferred to know exactly what he was to do one moment to the next. It helped with productivity and efficiency. Across the polished surface of his desk, folders were arranged in a straight row as if on an assembly line. It was a good illustration of how he liked to deal with day to day issues. Finish one task and move on to the next and then the next.

He always came in before everyone else so that he could have a few minutes to work in relative peace, and he always started out the day with his door open. That way he could watch as the subordinates filed in so he could see who was on time, who was late, and speak to any worker that had issues that needed to be addressed. Once everyone had arrived, he would shut his door. This wasn’t just an attempt to drown out any distracting noises, but it also created a barrier – a physical representation of the separation between supervisor and subordinates.

At the appropriate time, workers began walking into the office. He could hear their laughter floating down the halls along with the smells of brewing coffee from the break room, although conversations hushed briefly when the agents passed by his door. So far, he hadn’t called out to anyone to correct behavior or draw attention to some issue, but no one wanted to be the first. Maybe, for once, he could get everything completed on time.

Someone rapped loudly on the doorframe, and William sighed in annoyance as he looked up only to see Eric standing there with Ronald positioned nearby. He would have usually demanded an explanation for the interruption, but there was something about the wide smile decorating Ronald’s face and the way that Eric was shifting from foot to foot as if he was either excited or desperately needed to use the facilities that gave him reason to pause. “Yes, Slingby?” William prompted, noting the reaper’s rather disheveled appearance.

“Alan doesn’t have the Thorns anymore!” Eric blurted, “I took him to the hospital last night after a bad attack, but now he’s completely healed!”

For a brief moment, William was at a complete loss for words as he processed what he had just been told. “What?” he finally managed, “But how?”

“Dr. Wells said it might be a miracle,” replied Eric, “but I don’t really care. I’m just happy that Alan’s going to be okay. He has to stay in the hospital for a least today so they can keep an eye on him, but hopefully he’ll be out tomorrow.”

“I see,” William said, “So I guess I need to get started on the paperwork excusing the two of you for work today.” He allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile, and wasn’t surprised to see the shock on the tall reaper’s face. He had heard the talk around the office and knew that he was often regarded as having all the personality of a houseplant. There were jokes about how everyone knew exactly where he stored his scythe when it wasn’t in use that accounted both for his uptight demeanor and his posture, but this didn’t bother him in the least. It was better if he was seen with automaton that demanded respect and the best performance from all those working under him rather than an emotional leader which could be taken advantage of and manipulated. Most people never even noticed the little things he did to accommodate the agents such as always letting Slingby and Humphries work together while the younger reaper was ill, or the fact he had been careful not to assign any of the infant victims of the latest measles outbreak to Grell. 

Eric’s eyes widened slightly. “The day off for both of us?” he asked.

“Yes,” William confirmed, “You don’t look like you’re ready to work today, and I would suspect that you’d prefer to spent the day with Humphries. He can have a few more days to recover, but I’ll expect you to report to work tomorrow in a proper outfit. Understood?”  
Eric nodded quickly. “Is it okay if I tell everyone else the good news before I leave?”

“As long as you don’t keep anyone from getting their work done.”

“Oh, and we were thinking about maybe having a party for Alan when he comes back,” added Eric.

William allowed his gaze to slide over to Ronald briefly. “Knox’s idea, no doubt,” he stated, “Any such functions would have to be held after working hours.”

“Thanks,” Eric said, his already wide smile growing. With a nod towards Ronald, they both hurried down the hall to spread the good news.

Despite the interruption, William found himself in a relatively good mood. He was sincerely happy to learn of Alan’s apparent recovery, and he wasn’t too far behind schedule. The measles outbreak was also slowing, so they shouldn’t be too shorthanded even with both Eric and Alan out of the office. He liked to think of life as a straight road, but occasionally small detours weren’t so bad if you could find your way back to the main path quickly. 

He was considering this when he heard the familiar sound of heels clacking down the hallway and sighed softly as the biggest detour of his everyday life came walking down the hall. Glancing at the clock, he saw that Grell was later than usual, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He dropped his gaze and turned his attention to a paper on his desk as the footsteps came closer and he knew that the redhead was just outside his door.

“You’re late, Sutcliff,” he announced.

“Oh Will,” replied the familiar voice, “You know you can’t rush a lady. Besides, I’m fashionably late.”

William raised his head and started to say how there was no such thing as fashionably late in the office, but stopped the moment he got his first good look at the normally flamboyant reaper.

Grell had worn makeup for years, although William really didn’t see the point in it as he sincerely thought he looked just fine without the cosmetics. However, Grell’s makeup application had always been tasteful as he had told William that the point was to make it look natural. Apparently Grell had abandoned that philosophy today because it looked like his foundation had been applied by a paint roller, and it still hadn’t disguised the fact that his skin wasn’t its usual healthy color. His eyes were dull and flat, and he had never seen Grell voluntarily wear his hair in a high ponytail at work. Something was definitely off, although he had no idea if he should say anything. Grell could be self-conscious about his appearance.

“You’re incorrigible, Sutcliff,” he finally said as he adjusted his glasses, “You’ll be on desk duty today.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but it was the best he could manage at the moment. Even though it would mean more work for everyone else, especially with Eric and Alan both absent, he hoped that by keeping Grell in the office he could get to the bottom of whatever was wrong. The logical part of his mind told him that sending Grell out on field assignments when he clearly wasn’t his usual self was too much a liability, but he knew the real reason was that he was concerned. 

“But, Will,” the redhead whined. Even his typical response seemed wrong somehow, as if it was all part of an act.  
“My decision is final, Sutcliff,” he stated in a firm tone, “Now go to your desk and get to work. There’s already a mountain of paperwork stacked there precariously and I’d like to see you get at least some of it done for once.”

Grell finally nodded slightly and trudged down the hall in a faux meek manner, but something still nagged at William. He had seen Grell after he had been nearly been beaten senseless on a few occasions, but he had never seem him look so weak and tired before. He almost looked defeated, and the William just couldn’t figure out what might have happened.

Mumbling to himself about how his workday was already shot and it wasn’t even quite lunch yet, the dispatch supervisor began looking through all of the most current reports, but he couldn’t find Grell’s paperwork from his last assignment. If William remembered correctly, it had been a routine job concerning a young girl, but he worried that something else might have happened. The paperwork wasn’t actually due until 4:30 pm, and knowing Grell, he wouldn’t see it any earlier than 4:29 – but William wanted to know if anything unusual had occurred now.

Swiftly, he left his office and walked down the hallway to talk to Grell. As he approached, he saw Ronald and Eric standing outside of his door, no doubt spreading the good news about Alan. For some unknown reason, he saw Ronald’s face darken slightly and he heard him say something about not needing anything from Grell before walking off and nearly bumping into William in the process. Ronald, looking a bit confused, asked Grell why Eric had acted like that and Grell was just explaining that he had no idea when William reached the doorway. Ronald squirmed a bit since he no doubt knew that he should be busy with work when he had been just hanging out with Eric all morning. He mumbled a quick goodbye before hurrying away, and William stepped just inside of Grell’s office.

“Sutcliff, where is the paperwork for last night’s reaping?” he demanded in his normal, no-nonsense tone.

“That’s not even due until later,” Grell answered, as he raised an eyebrow, “Why so impatient, darling?”

“I’m not your darling,” William said automatically, “And it’s due today. It shouldn’t take you that long to finish the necessary documents on a simple job like that.”

“Fine. Fine. I’ll get right on it,” Grell said as he turned his chair around, no doubt gathering some of the necessary documents, but then he suddenly paused. Although William could only see only a little bit of his form from behind, he saw Grell jerk slightly as if his muscles had suddenly tensed, and he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Just grabbing the papers,” Grell answered, but William could hear the unsteadiness in his voice.

Finally Grell turned around and flashed a large, rather fake, smile at him. William stood there, his mind practically pleading with Grell just to admit what was wrong, but the red reaper remained as silent as the night. Not knowing what else he could do, he turned to leave so that he could return to his own office.

“William.”

He stopped immediately at the plaintive, vulnerable tone, because he had never heard Grell sound like that before. While he liked playing the ‘damsel,’ Grell was far from weak. It was actually one of the things that bothered William the most about the agent. Grell had the capacity to be one of the greatest reapers of all time, but he seemed complacent to be average and just do the minimum required of him. “What is it, Sutcliff?” he asked.

“There was never a chance for us, was there?”

That was the question that William had always dreaded the most. Grell threw himself at William every chance he got, and loved turning even the most innocent encounter into fuel into an innuendo laden account of an imaginary tryst, but he had never simply asked the question directly until this moment. William turned slightly, but he didn’t want Grell to have a full view of his face just in case any of his emotions showed.

“What do you mean? If you mean an ‘us’ as in a couple, then no there never was a chance.” Pausing, he took a deep breath in an effort to keep his voice steady. “Even ignoring the fact that you are my subordinate and any relationship between us would be highly inappropriate, we are just too different. You are simply chaos, Sutcliff, and I don’t care for chaos in my world.” There it was – his well-rehearsed answered. He only hoped that Grell accepted it.

“I had guessed as much,” he responded in a subdued tone.

William stood there for a few more minutes. He had heard the hurt lacing Grell’s voice, and a part of him wanted to turn around, to say something. Perhaps he could admit that it was all a lie. But it wasn’t a lie, at least not entirely. Grell was chaos and William only wanted order in his life. He didn’t want chaos. He didn’t want it.

But he wanted Grell.

It was ridiculous and illogical. Any relationship beyond a professional one between them simply couldn’t happen. It wouldn’t be right for either one of them. He couldn’t ask Grell to change or to tone down his vivacious personality, but William couldn’t imagine trying to handle that personality day in and day out. They were order and chaos – two things that could never coexist.

After a few minutes, he left the office and, as he walked down the hall, he heard Grell gently close his door. To anyone walking past, William was fairly sure he looked the same. His cold mask was in place without a sign of emotion, but inside he was trembling. He had come to accept that there could never really be anything between him and Grell, and he had learned to be happy with just their daily contact and routines. Yes, it was all about routines. That was how he lived his life.

He walked past his office into the main hall to glance up at the large clock on the wall to see it was nearly lunchtime. Despite his other feelings, the fact remained was that there was something wrong with Grell, and he should do what he could for his subordinate. With a plan in mind, he walked over to his secretary’s desk.

“Miss Fletcher,” he said to the slender young girl with straight, dark hair, “I’m going to step out for lunch. Please let anyone looking for me know.”

“Of course, Mr. Spears,” the girl said immediately with a gentle nod.

William returned the nod as he turned to leave. There was still someone he could turn to for advice, and he had to seek him out. It was the rational thing to do and everything he did was rational. He was order.

And he was going to try to help chaos.


	5. Chapter 5: Apology

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews everyone! This story should be around 10-11 chapters, so we’re almost at the half-way point.

Chapter 5: Apology

Eric stood silently as he regarded the small building that was the hospital. So many times he had come here in the past with Alan – running through the doors in a panic. While each time he had left with Alan still by his side, there was always this overwhelming fear of the day that he would walk out alone. The hospital had become a place of fear and a constant reminder that Alan’s life was slipping through his finger like grains of sand. He had grown to hate the sight of the wretched building.

Now, however, it had become a beacon of hope. A healthy and very much alive Alan was waiting inside, and there was a good chance that his companion would never again have to enter this building as a patient. With Alan’s glasses and a fresh change of clothes in hand, he was actually whistling a happy tune as he made his way into the hospital and towards Alan’s room.

Any vestiges of fear that still clung to the darkest recesses of his mind concerning Alan’s recovery immediately vanished the moment he stepped into the room and his gaze fell upon his companion. The bed in the room was vacant as Alan was perched up on the windowsill gazing out the window. Even with only the side of his face visible, Eric could see that he had even better color than the night before and there was a remarkable alertness in his gaze. Alan was still a bit thin, but other than that he looked to be in excellent health.

“What are you doing?” Eric asked as he walked over to him.

Alan turned back with a gentle smile. “Staring out at this blue, fuzzy mass that I guess is the sky.”

Eric laughed as he handed over his glasses. “Better?” he inquired.

Nodding, Alan put on the glasses, stood, and wrapped his arms loosely about Eric. “Much better,” he answered, “It’s always is when I can see your face.”

Eric returned the smile and for a moment they simply stood there looking at one another as if nothing else mattered. Eric couldn’t help but wish for time to stop so they could have this moment for all eternity, although he knew that was an impossible wish. Still, even if it was fleeting, there was no price too high for these few precious minutes with Alan.

“Ah, Mr. Slingby,” a voice said from the doorway, “One of the nurses said she thought she saw you come in.”

Eric turned slightly and saw Dr. Wells entering the room with a jovial smile stretched across his broad face. Had the man’s hair been white, he would have undoubtedly made a great Santa Claus with just a little padding around the middle. Eric moved out of Alan’s embrace and casually draped his arm about the smaller man’s shoulders. “When can Alan come home?” he inquired. He briefly thought about asking if Alan was truly cured, but he had already convinced himself that his lover was finally out of danger from the Thorns.

Dr. Wells shrugged his broad shoulders. “He can leave any time that he likes,” he replied, “As far as I can tell, he is in perfect health. Of course, we still want to keep an eye on him, but for now everything looks great.”

Alan leaned over to beam up at Eric. “I can even go to work tomorrow,” he announced.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Eric asked, frowning slightly as he turned his attention back to Dr. Wells, “You don’t think that’s rushing things a bit?”

“It should be fine as long as he doesn’t push himself too far,” replied the doctor as he crossed the room and held out his hand. “Good luck, Mr. Humphries,” he said, “As good of a patient as you were, I sincerely hope to never see you in this hospital again.”

Alan shook the offered hand. “I hope the same thing,” he replied, “Even though were are a great doctor. I thank you for all you’ve done for me.”

“You’re welcome, but I can’t take any credit in your recovery,” Dr. Wells stated as his gaze shifted from Alan to Eric, “Maybe it was love.” His warm smile never leaving his face, he turned and left the two alone.

Alan quickly got dressed in the clothes that Eric had brought and the two reapers left the hospital arm in arm. Just the day before, Eric would have been self-conscious with even the mildest displays of affection out in the open, but today he couldn't care less who saw. He wanted to stand on the rooftops of the highest building and shout about his love and devotion for all to hear. His relieved and genuinely happy smile never faded as they walked back to Alan’s nearby apartment.

“Looks like you left here in a hurry,” Alan mused as he stepped inside and surveyed the mess. The younger reaper was naturally neat and orderly, which was almost the complete opposite Eric’s usual style. In fact, the few arguments between them in the past had occurred because of this difference, but they had learned to compromise for the most part. This isn’t to say that there weren’t times that Eric didn’t get a little annoyed at Alan’s need for everything to always be in one specific sport or that that he didn’t get on Alan’s nerves with his lack of organization, but it was so minor that it seemed silly to dwell on – especially with the way Alan’s recently cured illness had plagued their daily existence.

“Sorry,” Eric said, as he grabbed up a shirt that had been carelessly tossed on the couch. He walked through the bedroom on his way to the clothes hamper in the bathroom when his eyes fell upon the nightstand on Alan’s side of the bed. In two neat rows a series of bottles had been arranged; all setting and patiently awaiting the next time they would be needed. Eric walked over and picked up one of the bottles as if examining it for the first time. Right now it was the last piece of physical evidence of how close he had come to losing his love.

“Do you think we can throw these out?” he yelled.

Alan popped his head into the room to see what it was that Eric wanted to throw away, and frowned slightly when it saw it was his medicine. “Probably not,” he answered, “Remember, Dr. Wells isn’t completely positive I’m cured. What if the Thorns comes back? I’ll need those.”

Eric returned the bottle to its location and walked over to Alan. “But it’s not coming back,” he said assuredly.

“How do you know?” Alan asked quietly, “I mean, I want to believe it to, but we have to be careful not to get our hopes up until we know for certain.”

“I do know for certain,” replied Eric, “Don’t ask me how, but trust me. I know.” He turned away to throw the shirt in the hamper as he had originally intended. “So, what do you want to do this evening?” he asked.

“I think I want to cook us a nice meal,” Alan replied, walking back into the kitchen. “It will be a nice way celebrate, well, everything.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” asked Eric as he followed Alan, “I mean, you don’t want to push yourself too hard. You just got out of the hospital.”

Alan laughed softly as he began searching through the cabinets. “One minute you’re saying you know I’m cured and the next you’re afraid for me to do anything. Make up your mind.”

Eric didn’t return the laugh. “I’m just worried,” he admitted, “Why don’t you let me cook?”

“Eric, you can barely boil water!” returned the younger man, “If you want to help, there are a few things I’ll need.” He grabbed a sheet of paper from a pad hanging on their pantry door and used a pen that was attached to the pad to write down a short list. “Grab these from the store while I go ahead and get dinner started.”

Eric reluctantly agreed as he took the list and started to leave their apartment, but he couldn’t resist one last look at Alan. He looked so happy and so full of life, and Eric loved seeing him like this. It was worth any cost.

There weren’t many businesses within the reaper realm because they could always go to the human world for anything they needed, but there was a small grocery store nearby, and everything Alan had written down could be purchased there. A part of his mind was still worried about his love, but he pushed the thought aside as he walked past the long row of apartments, but he paused when he reached the final one.

Although he had never visited before, Eric knew that this was Grell’s apartment. From the outside, it looked precisely the same as all the other buildings for the most part, but neat row of red roses had been planted alongside of the steps were a clear sign that the occupant of this apartment liked a splash of color. Eric couldn’t help a bit sorry for the flamboyant reaper. He was loud and over the top at times, but he was often treated like such an outcast – and Eric was guilty of some of the worst of the treatment. It wasn’t that he disliked Grell. On the contrary, there had been occasions where they had talked and Eric found him original, witty, and entertaining. His problem with Grell was two-fold. For one, he didn’t like the fact that Grell put on an act most of the time and rarely showed who he truly was beneath the makeup and innuendos. Secondly, he feared that there were a bit too much like in some ways. Both of them had quick tempers and a tendency to jump into situations without fully thinking through the consequences – traits that had gotten both of them in trouble.

Eric also realized that he had been too harsh with Grell earlier that day. After Ronald had told Grell the good news, he had thought that Grell had been acting just a bit peculiar, and he had gotten angry that the redhead hadn’t been more excited. Looking back on the incident with a clearer mind, he could see that Grell had been distracted by something else, but he had been happy to hear about Alan’s recovery. Eric had simply overreacted.

Without a second thought, he walked up the steps and knocked on Grell’s door. He could hear shuffling inside and, after a few minutes, Grell opened the door but seemed shocked when he saw Eric. The red reaper gasped, his eyes widening almost comically wide, before closing the door most of the way to hide behind it. “Sorry,” Grell said from his hiding place, “but a lady should never be seen without her makeup.”

“That’s okay,” Eric managed, but he had been a little surprised at the sight of Grell, who looked far too pale and weak for his own good. While he had never seen Grell without his makeup, Eric had trouble believing that he always looked so frail and sickly. “I just stopped by to apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?” Grell’s voice sounded genuinely surprised, and Eric couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had actually taken the time to apologize to him before.

“For how I acted towards you at the office today,” Eric explained, “I shouldn’t have been so mean when you were just offering to help. I was just a bit overwhelmed with Alan’s recovery, and I guess I was just being emotional.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” stated Grell calmly, “It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yes, it was,” Eric countered, “You didn’t deserve to be treated like that. That’s why I wanted to tell you I was sorry.”

“Well, apology accepted, but you really didn’t have to.” Grell opened the door a little wider, although he was still hiding behind it. “Would you like to come in? I’ll just run to the bathroom and put on my face, but you can take a seat if you like?”

“No, I have to run to the store and grab a few things,” replied Eric, “Alan wants to cook dinner for us.”

“That’s so nice of him, but he always was a sweet boy,” Grell said, “Well, if you ever want to stop by, you’re welcome. Both of you are.” He laughed softly, “Although I would like to know beforehand so I can be ready for company.”

“We just might do that,” Eric stated, “but I have to be running for now. Take care of yourself. Bye!”

“Goodbye, and don’t be such a stranger!” Grell shut the door as Eric turned and started to walk away.

Eric’s footsteps were slow, as if he was trying to walk through water. He was trying to convince himself that right now he had only had the energy to focus on Alan and his miraculous recovery, but his thoughts kept slipping back to Grell. He couldn’t worry about the normally ostentatious reaper right now. He didn’t have the time or the energy, but he couldn’t stop his mind from going over the same thoughts again and again. Why had he truly been so dismissive of Grell?

It was strange, but right now he couldn’t deny the fact that Grell and he actually could have been friends if he had only given him a chance. Eric only hoped that it wasn’t too late.


	6. Chapter 6: Defining and Complimenting

A/N: Again, thanks to everyone who has been reading my story. I’m doing my best to add a new chapter every 1-2 days. There’s a few notes at the end of this chapter as well.

Chapter 6: Defining and Complimenting

William stood stiffly in the middle of the musty room as his eyes adjusted to the shadows and gloom that seemed to wrap about him like a veil. Cobwebs, laminated by years of dust, hung in the in the corners like ruined lace as a few candles did little to dispel the ever encroaching darkness. “I know you’re here, sir,” he called out respectfully, “I have a bit of question that’s bothering me, and I was hoping you’d be able to help.” 

The hungry silence swallowed his words greedily, but was soon broken by a soft chuckling from the back of the shop. It grew in volume, echoing and reverberating against the walls, as the lid to an upright coffin was pushed aside and the tall, slender form of Undertaker was revealed.

It was hard for William to keep his mask of bored detachment as he stood before the ancient, although outwardly he only adjusted his glasses slightly with his scythe. When he had been in the academy, every moment that wasn’t consumed with studying his text books and training were spent reading stories and drinking in the details of the exploits of this legendary reaper. He had learned of Undertaker’s whereabouts and current identity when he had been first promoted to supervisor. He could clearly remember the faithful day when he had to sit and listen calmly as he learned that the actual legend, his idol, was now living in the mortal realm and playing the role of a creepy bounder. William had tried to listen attentively as his superiors explained that Undertaker’s behavior had grown increasingly odd over the years, and that he needed to be watched carefully since it was suspected that he had become slightly mad, but William was more interested in the fact that the very individual he had idolized was actually within reach. Even now when William had something rather important to ask, he found himself wanting to just sit by Undertaker’s feet like a young boy and ask to hear a story about when he had been an active reaper.

“You have a question, do you?” Undertaker asked, a wide smile stretched across his scarred visage. “Well, you do know my price?”

William felt the color leave his face, but he had tried to prepare for this situation. He stepped forward and laid a book down on the two coffins that had been stacked on top of one another and served as a makeshift counter. Underaker’s smile didn’t slip, but it shifted slightly as he walked over and picked up the book. He held the cover rather close to his face, and William had a brief moment of panic as he wondered if the ancient could actually read the book without glasses and in the dim light, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief when he heard the retired reaper say the title.

“Nonsense Songs, Stories, Botany and Alphabets,” Undertaker read with a shrug, “Sounds like something I would like.” He laid the book aside and interlaced his long fingers. “But I didn’t ask for reading material. I want a fine laugh. Are you prepared to do that, Willy?”

William inwardly winced at the nickname. He hated when anyone shortened his name, and, had this been Grell, he would immediately announced that he was to be addressed as William – or rather as Mr. Spears. He could not bring himself, however, to correct Undertaker no matter what he called him. “I’m afraid I don’t know any jokes,” he said, “but I am rather desperate for any help you can give me.”

“Well perhaps you can make me laugh without having to tell a joke,” Undertaker replied, “I do believe I have a pink frock somewhere in the back. The previous owner was a rather large-boned lass, so this dress should fit you without much issue. I’d think that you wearing that dress while singing and dancing should be enough to make me chuckle.”

William felt a heat spreading across his cheeks and burning in his ears, and he knew that he as blushing. “I’m not, uh, sure if that would be appropriate. Perhaps…there is some…other method to…uh, to help you…I mean….to make you laugh.” The dispatch supervisor was horrified to hear the stumbling, unsure voice coming out of his own mouth.

Suddenly peals of laughter erupted from the old reaper and William looked in shock as the Undertaker leaned over a coffin and was slapping the wooden surface in time with his laughter. “You looked so positively horrified when I mentioned the pink dress,” the ancient gasped, “I believe your eyes almost popped out of your head, and I didn’t even know that a face could turn that red.”

William ran a hand through his already perfectly coifed black hair and adjusted his glasses in a desperate attempt to reestablish control of the situation. “You have gotten your laugh,” he stated, still despising the burning sensation lingering in his cheeks, “Will you give me the information I need.”

Undertaker nodded as he slipped one long nailed finger beneath his fringe of hair to presumably wipe away a tear. “What do you want to know?”

“How much do you know about the Thorns of Death?”

Even with much of his countenance concealed, William saw Undertaker’s face drop slightly. “If I had known that was going to be your question, I wouldn’t have asked for payment,” he said, “even though I do love a good laugh.” He sat down on a coffin, removed his hat, and set it beside him. As he turned, his hair shifted slightly so that one brilliant eye was visible, and William was surprised to see how much his face had changed in the last few minutes. The giggling maniac that occupied this space had momentarily vanished leaving behind a beautiful and untamed ancient. He had never removed the mask he used to disguise his true self before William before, and the supervisor was shocked beyond words. There was still an eccentric, perhaps mad, light shimmering in the dual irises, but he had never seen Undertaker look simultaneously so controlled and dangerous.

“I honestly don’t know much about the disease,” Undertaker began, “It was never a concern for me as it only affected reborn reapers. Those, like myself, who had never been human simply weren’t susceptible. I had never even heard of it until after I retired, and I think there’s only a few cases ever recorded.”

William nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I’ve read every book I could get my hands on, but there’s so little information.”

“So why ask me?” questioned Undertaker, “Wouldn’t those quacks you lads call doctors in the reaper realm know more about it than I would.”

“Well, you do know something about anatomy,” William said.

“I suppose.”

“Do you think it’s possible for the Thorns to be passed from one reaper to another?” William suddenly asked, blurting out the question desperately. The retired reaper only looked stunned for a moment, and William could feel his frustration building inside him. He turned as if he was addressing the jars containing blobs he suspected to be organs of deceased humans. “I’d ask the reaper doctors,” he admitted, “but I’m sure they’d laugh at me. It’s so illogical. I know that, but I still have to ask if it’s possible.”

“It isn’t likely,” Undertaker answered, “The very nature of the disease would attest to that.” 

“That’s what I thought,” William mumbled, more than a little annoyed with himself, as he turned to leave.

“But being unlikely doesn’t make it impossible,” added Undertaker.

Slowly William turned around only to see that the older reaper had put his hat back on and was now acting more like the character that was expected of him. “It doesn’t,” he asked slowly.

Undertaker didn’t answer him at first. He walked over to the far side of his shop and picked up a rather tiny, intricate coffin. “The measles outbreak is just about over?” he asked.

“It appears so,” William replied.

“That’s good because these small coffins are a pain to make,” the retired reaper began, “You would think that because they’re smaller, it would be easier, but it’s not. It’s actually harder to get it fit together and you have so little room for error. Besides, these parents are so demanding when it comes to the details. If I was to charge them what similar services would usually cost, they would wind up starving their other children just to bury one.”

He chuckled softly to himself, although William saw little humor in the situation. He was curious why Undertaker had gone on this tangent, but he was trying to be patient.

“I was on my way back here the other day after a burial,” he finally continued, “When I came across a group of kids. They looked a bit frightened when they saw me, which isn’t all that unusual, but then I saw what they were playing. One of them was lying in some sort of old crate while some of the others were walking behind, pretending to cry. I had heard of this game, funeral the wee ones call it, but I had never actually seen it being played out before. Then, I noticed a boy wrapped up in an old black rag and oversized hat trying to get a scrawny dog to pull the crate.” He laughed again. “At least they did pick a good-looking lad to play me.”

Once his laughter died down, William cautiously spoke up. “I’m sorry, sir, but what is the point of this story?”

“Children understand,” came the quick reply, “Before the adults start messing with their heads and tell them how everything has to be completely logical, they understand the relationship of things. They get how things are not opposites but rather compliment one another. We don’t typically think about life and death like this because it doesn’t affect us the same, but we still see the same concept in other areas. Logical and Illogical. Light and Dark. Order and Chaos.”

“What?” William asked, a bit sharper than intended as he couldn’t help but think about himself in Grell. Clearing his throat, he attempted to soften his earlier outcry. “What I mean, is how do things like…light and dark compliment each other. Don’t they destroy each other? Dark swallows the light or light overpowers the dark.”

Again Undertaker chuckled. “You’re thinking too simply,” he admonished, “How would we define light without dark? If there was no dark, then we would simply think of the light as simply being – the normal state. We’d have no reason to define it any further. Dark gives light meaning and even purpose. Opposites define and compliment each other.” He walked over to stand next to William. Although his eyes were hidden once again, William felt as he had been pinned by their gaze.

“If you went to the doctors and specialists, they wouldn’t laugh openly at you,” Undertaker stated, “but they would think you’d gone a tad daft. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being a touch. Makes things a bit more interesting, wouldn’t you say?” When William didn’t respond, the older reaper continued. “Just because something isn’t logical doesn’t make it impossible, just illogical.”

William considered this for a few moments. “But how could a disease like the Thorns pass from one reaper to another?” he asked.

“So, that one young reaper – what was his name again – is cured of the Thorns?”

“Humphries,” answered the dispatch supervisor, “And apparently so. The doctors can’t find a trace of it.”

“And another reaper has fallen ill?” asked Undertaker asked.

“Not officially,” admitted William, “He hasn’t said anything, nor has he gone to see a doctor. I checked, but there’s still something wrong. I’ve been looking over the symptoms again, and it seems to fit somewhat. I don’t know why I suspect it. It makes no sense, but a part of me still says that he might have it.”

“Might have,” Undertaker mused as he tapped on finger against the side of chin as in deep thought. “If he’s feeling so poorly, why wouldn’t he say anything?”

“I don’t know, but I do have an idea,” William replied in a rather subdued tone. He couldn’t but think of the way he had so coldly told Grell there could never be anything between them. If it was true (was it?), he could have still gone about saying it in a more respectful, tactful manner.

Undertaker nodded in a knowing manner. “If you’re trying to figure how the illogical happened,” he said, “maybe there’s someone else you should ask. After all, reapers weren’t the only beings active the other night.”

“Demons?” William asked as he narrowed his eyes.

A soft chuckled swept through the room. “No, my dear boy,” replied Undertaker, “Quite the opposite in fact.”

William’s face darkened as the retired reaper told what he had seen the night before as a few pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. “Thank you,” he said. He was genuinely grateful, but the emotion was tempered with a burning anger that was rising from the pit of the stomach. Without an actual goodbye, he created a portal to leave the dimly lit shop and the softly chuckling ancient behind, but William’s eyes were cast ahead. He had to report this new information. Lives were, quite literally, hanging in the balance.

A/N: The book William gives Undertaker was a popular book of limericks.


	7. Chapter 7: At the Party

A/N: I’m really thrilled that people are enjoying my story. Hopefully this chapter will answer a few more questions.

Chapter 7: At the Party

All around Grell were smiles and laughter as she sat silently in the corner and quietly drank in all of the excitement. Although Ronald hadn’t much time to plan an actual party since they had only found out this morning that Alan was returning to work, just the fact that Alan was actually there and looking quite healthy was enough to make it a celebratory event. The room was filled with every active reaper plus quite a few people from different apartments. Alan was apparently quite the popular fellow, Grell mused as the fake, painted smile never left her face. In fact, practically the only one not in attendance was William. He had been muttering something about waiting to hear back from somebody, and hadn’t left the sanctity of his office all day. It was a shame since it really was a nice party, although Grell was having trouble enjoying herself.

Despite stopping by her apartment to apologize for his earlier behavior, Eric had been purposely avoiding her today – or so it seemed. At first, she thought that she was just being paranoid, but there had been several times this evening that Eric’s gaze had drifted in her direction only for him to pointedly look away. She had considered just walking up to him and speaking directly, and she probably would have in the past, but today she just didn’t feel like. This morning she had awoke looking paler and it appeared like she had dropped a little weight. In fact, she looked worse than she had ever noticed Alan looking, and the only reasoning that Grell could think of was that she had suddenly been given an advanced state of the Thorns while Alan had gotten sick gradually. There was also a possibility that she simply hadn’t noticed how sick Alan had been, but she was still at least partially sure that she was actually worse than he had been.

In truth, she was more than a little angry and annoyed. She was quite literally sacrificing everything so that Alan could live and no one could even tell that she wasn’t feeling like herself. Eric wasn’t being openly rude to her anymore, but now he was acting as if she didn’t even exist. She was giving up her own life in such a way that he could keep his love by his side. The least he could do was to make eye contact and acknowledge that she was there. Laughter and joyous conversation drifted about the room like banners, but it made Grell feel all the more isolated. She wanted to yell, scream, and demand that everyone see that she had done something that wasn’t foolish, selfish, or deranged, but she simply sat and thought about everything.

If she could find Ivory at this moment, she would grab the angel and demand that she undo the deal. Grell had gotten her wish. She had been able to see what would happen if she was the one dying, and the truth wasn’t attractive. She would never have a love holding her in her final moments and, no matter what she did, she wouldn’t be remembered. Alan would. He would have those things that she never had, and the only thing that her sacrifice would accomplish for her now was that she would be able to die knowing there had been little or no point to her existence. While she realized that if she simply announced that she had the Thorns and that she was reason that Alan had been healed things might be different, but it still wasn’t fair or enough. The sad simple truth is that no one would have cared as much if she had been the one that had been dying all along.

She had been so much more accepting of her fate last night. Sitting quietly in her own apartment, she had struggled with writing a farewell letter to William. Normally, she found it quite easy to express even her most turbulent feelings with words, but writing the letter had proven to be exceptionally difficult. She must have started writing the letter a dozen times, crumpling countless sheets of paper and tossing them aside until they littered the floor like misshapen snowballs, before she finally wrote something acceptable. It wasn’t her most poetic or moving work, but she hoped that her simple words would suffice. At this moment, the letter was folded and resting comfortably in the pocket of her pants. She could feel it there, and, in an odd way, it gave her some strength. Although she was no longer fooling herself by imagining Will being moved by her words, the idea that she would be able to express exactly how she felt was comforting. Her only decision now would be whether it would be best to leave the letter in her apartment or her office. While she was sure that if the letter was addressed to William, it would eventually reach no matter where it was left, she didn’t want her final act to be an embarrassment to him. The idea that she wanted to act discreetly, which was against her typical nature, caused giggles to rise up in her throat but she managed to hide it with a slight cough.

The party was breaking up and Grell watched as the others begin to leave. She decided that this was the best time to return to her office and leave her letter to William. She would place it one of her files because she knew that would be one of the places that only William would look. As she stood, she saw Eric tell Alan to go on home and that he would finish cleaning up here. Eric glanced up as Alan started to walk away, and for the briefest of moments his eyes met hers, but he suddenly turned away as if he had seen something disturbing. Grell let her smile slip ever so slightly. She was still tempted to confront Eric about his behavior, and perhaps she would later if she felt like it. Perhaps she would do so later, but now she had something else that she wanted to do. The letter in her pocket shifted as she moved, almost as if it was asking to be placed in a file.

Quietly, she left the room and walked down the deserted hall towards her office. Everyone else was leaving by another hallway, and it seemed that she was completely alone for the moment. Her footsteps exploded in pervasive quiet, but the thoughts twisting about her head was so much louder as she walked. Her chest ached with something that cut so much deeper than the Thorns, but she refused to give in to the feelings. She wasn’t going to cry. She wouldn’t allow herself.

As she pushed the door open, a horrible, burning sensation suddenly erupted in her body. She gasped in pain and clumsily fell to the floor in an undignified heap. Each wave of pain cause her to jerk and twist like a helpless marionette being controlled by a sadistic puppet master. Despite her resolution, tears formed in the corner of her eyes as she struggled through the worst attack she had experienced so far.

“Grell!” a voice yelled.

Through pain hazed eyes, Grell looked up and saw William standing in the door and some distant part of her mind realized that he actually looked upset. “Will,” she managed to groan.

William knelt by her side and actually wrapped his arm around her back. Although Grell recognized that the pain faded because the attack was passing, she couldn’t help but romanticize the situation and think that it was the presence of the one she truly loved that had chased away the hurt. She tried to smile up at him, to show him how much she appreciated him being there even if he could never love her, but she knew that her expression was still pained.

“Grell,” William repeated, apparently forgoing his typical use of her surname, “Did the angel do this to you?”

“What?” Grell asked, her eyes growing wide. For a brief moment she thought that she must have been hearing things. “How did you know about the angel?”

William shook his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he replied quickly, “But was it the angel? Did you make some sort of deal that you would take the Thorns from Alan?”

Grell was still shocked, but she nodded her head slowly. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered, “At least not yet.”

“Why would you do something like that?” William demanded.

“I didn’t mean to,” Grell blurted. That wasn’t what she wanted to say. The heroine should speak eloquently about sacrifices and costs, but she had been shocked into admitting the truth. “I told the angel that I didn’t want to take Alan’s place. I told her no, but then she asked me to think about it. She said I could make the decision in my sleep.” The tears that she had been fighting against broke loose and trailed down her face in a silver, spidery path. “I’m not sure why I agreed to take his disease.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” Eric said, stepping into view. He dropped his head and took a long, shaky breath. “I did. I'm the one who passed the Thorns on to you.”

“What?” William cried, rising up on his knees slightly.

“But I didn’t do it on purpose,” Eric added quickly, perhaps seeing something in William’s face that frightened him, “An angel came to me the other night and said that the Thorns could be passed on to another reaper. I told her to give the disease to me and spare Alan. She had this strange smile on her face and just kept asking if I agreed for the disease to be passed to another reaper, and I told her that I did. I thought that I would be the one who would get it, and I kept waiting for the first symptoms to appear.” He looked down at the floor as if seeing it for the first time. “When I first saw that Grell was acting sick, I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to accept that I had passed the disease to him. I was the one who was supposed to die in Alan’s place.”

Grell could see the pain so clearly written in Eric’s face. While she wasn’t precisely thrilled that Eric had been the one who had put her in this position, it did at least explain his most recent behavior. Anger, apologetic, and even avoidance – all these outward emotions and actions stemmed from guilt. Besides, the idea that he had been willing to give up his own life for Alan was quite romantic, and Grell had to admit it was a beautiful notion. If only Eric had left her out of it.

William opened his mouth, but a portal suddenly appeared behind Eric and a dark figure stood framed in the light. Grell couldn’t make out his exact features, but she could tell that it was a tall, imposing individual that stood staring at all of them.

“William T. Spears,” boomed the voice of the newcomer, “The council is ready to hear from you. Bring those two reapers and walk this way.”

Grell tried to struggle to her feet but she still felt very weak and drained from her most recent attack. Her feet felt unsteady and unsure as she slowly attempted to push herself to stand, but she worried that it was a losing battle. Just as she was about to give up, she felt William’s arms encircle her and lift her easily in his embrace. She gasped slightly and risked a quick glance at his face, but he wasn’t looking at her. This was one of the moments she had dreamed of for so long, and it was hard to believe that it was actually happening. She wrapped her arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest, deeply inhaling his scent – fully expecting him to either drop her or tell her to stop any instant, but he did neither. It was so comfortable, and she tried to accept that this could truly be one of those defining moments. How as it worded in stories? That she would be happy if she died in this moment? It sounded like a beautiful sentiment, but she had to accept one very definite thing.

It wasn’t true.

She wanted more. Just being held in William’s steady arms wasn’t enough for her. She wanted a chance to do so much more. She wanted to live. She wanted to love and be loved.

Wordlessly, William walked towards the portal as Eric followed. Grell could only wonder what would happen once they were before the council, but she felt so much more secure than she had in far too long. If only this feeling would last. If only it could last. If only.


	8. Chapter 8: Decisions from on High

A/N: Another chapter down. Because of how the last three chapters relate to one another, I’ll be posting 9, 10, and 11 at the same time. I can usually write about a chapter a day, so hopefully I’ll be finishing the story in a few days. Thanks for reading!

Chapter 8: Decisions from on High

William’s mind was reeling, his normally organized thoughts bouncing off one another and reverberating against the confines of his skull, as he knelt in the floor holding Grell. This was the first time he had seen the redhead truly weak, at least physically, and he was surprised by how much it affected him. Perhaps he had just gotten so use to him being strong, apparently not truly needing anyone despite what he might claim, that it was disconcerting to see him in this state, but William couldn’t help but think that it was something more than that. He couldn’t really stop to consider it now, however, as Grell had just confessed that he had indeed made a deal with the angel and taken the death curse known as the Thorns in place of Alan, but William just couldn’t understand what had led Grell to such a decision. Despite being a reaper, Grell was more full of life than anyone that William had ever met.

“Why would you do something like that?” William asked a bit sharper than he intended.

“I didn’t mean to,” Grell replied in a quick and desperate tone. “I told the angel that I didn’t want to take Alan’s place. I told her no, but then she asked me to think about it. She said I could make the decision in my sleep.” He began to cry quietly. “I’m not sure why I agreed to take his disease.”

“That’s because you didn’t,” Eric announced as he stepped into the open doorway, “I did.”

“What?” William cried. He rose from his knees slightly and he could feel anger coloring his face.

“But I didn’t do it on purpose,” Eric added quickly, “An angel came to me the other night and said that the Thorns could be passed on to another reaper. I told her to give the disease to me and spare Alan. She had this strange smile on her face and just kept asking if I agreed for the disease to be passed to another reaper, and I told her that I did. I thought that I would be the one who would get it, and I kept waiting for the first symptoms to appear.” He looked down at the floor as he continued, “When I first saw that Grell was acting sick, I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to accept that I had passed the disease to him. I was the one who was supposed to die in Alan’s place.”

William started to say how the incidents should have been reported immediately, but a portal appeared behind Eric. A masculine figure, backlight by the light of the portal so that his facial features were masked by shadows, stepped through to look at the three of them. William’s heart beat a little quicker because he knew his request to speak to the high council had finally been approved, although he had no idea what they would decide.

“William T. Spears,” the figure began, “The council is ready to hear from you. Bring those two reapers and walk this way.”

Grell tried to stand, but his legs seemed too weak to comply. Almost without thinking, William scooped up the sick reaper so that he could carry him through the portal. He knew that Grell was surprised by his action. Actually William was also surprised at his decision to carry Grell, although he did his best to keep his face neutral even as Grell put his arms around his neck and snuggled against his chest. He heard the deep intake of breath and resisted the urge to tell him to stop. Besides, depending on the decision of the council, this was perhaps the last time Grell would even have a chance to indulge in his spontaneous actions, and William wasn’t so cold that he couldn’t overlook it just this one time.

Besides, it wasn’t all that bad.

Without speaking, he stepped through the portal as Eric followed, and they found themselves standing in a long, plain hallway with a tall, arched ceiling. For the first time, they got a good view of the man who had created the portal, but he appeared rather plain. He was of average height and build with short, brown hair, wearing unremarkable black suit, and eyes hidden by his square framed glasses. In short, he was the perfect candidate to deliver messages for the high council as most were prone to be completely forget about his appearance it was so nondescript.

“Mr. Spears,” he stated, “Please follow me to the council chambers. The other two must wait here.”

William nodded as he glanced around for a place to leave Grell. There was a wooden bench nearby, so he walked over and carefully deposited Grell, whom was able to struggle to a sitting position. The bench didn’t look particularly comfortable, but at least Grell wouldn’t have to stand or sit in the floor. Partially comforted by this thought, William turned to follow his plain guide, but Grell suddenly grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. 

“Will,” Grell said in a soft tone, “I want to give you something.” He reached into his pocket and retrieved a piece of paper that had been folded many times. “I wrote this letter to you last night. I know you don’t care for me, but I just wanted to let you know how I felt.”

William felt something inside him break and he was quite certain that it was his heart. “Grell,” he began, not immediately accepting the letter. 

“Please take it!” he cried, shoving the paper into his head, “Please. I want you know how I truly feel. I don’t want you to forget me.”

William couldn’t remember the last time he cried. He didn’t typically indulge in foolish displays of emotion, even in private, but now he could feel the corners of his eyes begin to twitch and his lips tremble. “I could never forget you,” he managed as he accepted the letter and placed it inside his jacket. The look on Grell’s face as he took the letter tugged as his shattered heart, and he wished that he had more time to talk to him, but his guide was growing obviously impatient. Besides, maybe there was still time for the council to fix this mess.

William gave Grell a slight smile, trying to pass on a bit of hope, before turning and following the plain individual into another room – the room where the high council met.

It was a large, circular room that was only dimly lit by some unknown light source. It appeared to be a high room although the ceiling was so cloaked in shadows it was impossible to tell exactly how high, and there always seemed to be the present of faint, hushed whispers clinging in the corners. The council themselves sat in two rows of high benches where they could look down on whoever it was that had come before them – their faces shadowy and unreadable. This wasn’t the first time William had been in this room, and it wasn’t probably the last, but it was never a pleasant experience. He walked to the center of the room and felt the weight of unseen eyes press down upon him.

“William T. Spears,” an authoritative voice boomed, “We received your request for an audience and have been looking into the situation. What do you already know about this matter?”

“An angel approached two of my field agents, Agent Sutcliff and Agent Slingby, who were completing assigned jobs,” William answered, not allowing his voice nor his face to betray any emotions. “She attempted to get both agents to transfer the disease Thorns of Death from Agent Humphries to Agent Sutcliff. Agent Sutcliff didn’t agree to take on the disease, but didn’t deny a request to consider the matter in his sleep. Agent Slingby agreed for the disease to be passed to another reaper, but expressed that he wished for the Thorns to be given to him. Both agents assumed that the recovery of Agent Humphries and the subsequent illness of Agent Sutcliff were due to their own actions and didn’t report the matter right away. I noted a difference in Agent Sutcliff’s behavior and apparent health and attempted to learn of the cause. I learned from the retired reaper known as Undertaker that an angel was in the mortal realm and in the vicinity on the night that both reapers had assignments. Both agents confirmed that they had contact with this angel, and it can be assumed that somehow the angel passed the disease from one reaper to the other.” He paused as the relayed the information. When he had requested this meeting, he had only known of the angel’s appearance and Grell’s subsequent unusual behavior. He was glad he had learned more before standing before the council.

One of the shadowed figures leaned forward slightly, and William could see broad knuckled fingers interlaced in front of a darkened face. “We have done our own investigation,” announced the individual, “The angel, Ivory, did indeed approach both of your field agents. It seemed that Agent Humphries will indeed die in the near future, and it has been decided that he will be reborn as an angel after his death. The angels learned of this and did not want a former reaper in their ranks. It was determined that if another reaper who had been struck down by the Thorns was to die, it would satisfy the requirement set by fate, so the angels decided to find a reaper who would not be chosen to become an angel after death. In this manner, they hoped that their actions wouldn’t be noticed until it was too late.” The speaker leaned back and allowed his shape to be swallowed by the shadows.

Although William’s expression nor stance changed, he was shocked by the revelation. On the rare occasions a reaper did die, they were typically chosen to be reborn as a reaper at some point in the future – if they were chosen to reborn at all. Grell would have never been chosen to be an angel because of his own past deeds. A part of William wanted to ask if the council knew what would happen to the crimson reaper if he was to die, but he knew it would be frowned upon. He decided to ask a much safer question. “If I may ask, sirs,” he began, “Why did the angel go to both reapers instead of just one? Is it because Sutcliff didn’t agree?”

“The angel first went to Agent Sutcliff in hopes that he would simply agree to take the Thorns,” answered the same speaker, “but he did not. Seeing her failure, the angel then asked for him to think about it while he slept. The hope was that when he awoke and saw that he had fallen ill, he would simply assume that he had made the agreement while asleep and wouldn’t be as likely to talk about the incident – which proved to be the case. Likewise, Agent Slingby was tricked. He made it very clear that he wanted the disease passed on to him, but the angel was careful how she worded the agreement. When he realized that it was Agent Sutcliff that was ill instead of him, he also didn’t speak of it. He felt probably felt guilt, and there also was no doubt fear that if he said anything, Agent Humphries would fall sick once more.” There was a pregnant pause as William waited for the council to continue.

“Angels were given the power to make such agreements to help the faithful,” the council member finally said, “Although such deals are typically made with mortals. It is not nearly as binding as a demon contract, but it also has high costs and rarely turns out the way it was expected. Thankfully, these agreements can be broken. The only issue here is that much has happened since the agreement was made. Time can be made to run backwards to erase certain events, but there are many consequences. Such an action is to be avoided at all cost. Also, one reaper must die. That much cannot be changed. Please allow us to confer for one moment.”

Whispers danced and rippled through the room like frantic waves across a normally still pond as William stood as silent and unmoving as a stone. Deep in his heart he realized there could be no precisely good outcome from all this. No matter what the council decided, he was going to lose a field agent. Either he was going to lose someone he had grown accustomed to having nearby for as long as he could remember – someone that he had never even stopped to realize that not only could he love but that he did deeply care for, or Eric was going to lose the one person that he loved. If Alan did die and was reborn as an angel, Eric still would be forever cut off from him. There were times when fate was truly cruel.

Finally, the council ended the whispering and told William of their decision. He stood numbly as he listened, but his mind was screaming. He wished there was some other way. What the council decided was probably the most logical route, but for the first time William didn’t think that logic was the most important aspect of making a decision. He didn’t voice his thoughts however as he simply gave them a small nod and exited the room.

Eric had been sitting on the bench next to Grell, but jumped to his feet when William walked into the room. “Well, what did they say?” he asked, “What happens next?”

William had no idea how to answer that question even if he had been allowed. He looked at him helplessly and simply shook his head. There were no words to express what was going through his mind at the moment.

Grell stood slowly and took a few shaky steps towards William, but then his legs gave out. He let out a short cry as he started to fall, but William rushed to his side and caught him just before he slammed into the cold floor. It was much like the way they had positioned on the floor of Grell’s office only a short time earlier. The redhead gave him a weak smile as he looked up at William in an oddly calm manner. “They’ve decided, haven’t they?” he managed in a dry voice.

William nodded as he pushed aside a few scarlet strands of Grell’s hair from his cheek. That beautiful, wild mass of hair had always annoyed and intrigued him. It always seem to be spilling on William’s arms, back, and even on his neck when Grell was standing above him. It tickled when it ghosted across exposed skin and usually manage to distract him thoroughly. At the same time, William hated to admit that he loved the feel of that silky hair and often had to resist the urge to reach out and run the strands beneath his fingers. Now, he didn’t have to resist as Grell lay in his arms. Removing a glove, William stroked the hair gently as Grell closed his eyes momentarily as the melancholy smile never left his face.

“William,” Grell said, as he opened his eyes once again.

“Yes?”

“This almost makes it all worth it.” Grell’s smile grew as the most beautiful, tragic light glistened in his two-toned irises.

William realized that Grell was referring to his own death, and he didn’t try to hold back the single tear that escaped. For all of his exuberance, all Grell had seemingly wanted was so simple and earnest. What hurt even worst was Grell’s use of the word ‘almost.’ The tear still resting on his check, he leaned forward and kissed Grell ever so gently on the lips. The tear caught between their faces, connecting as much as their lips. 

As William moved away, he saw the light began to slowly envelope their forms. “I only wish that you’ll be able to remember this,” he whispered before Grell faded from his arms.


	9. Chapter 9: What Isn't Remembered

Chapter 9: What Isn't Remembered

Grell sat quietly on the bench, her back leaning heavily against the wall as she tried to prepare for the waves of pain that crashed upon her. Each time she winced and struggled not to make a sound, Eric would look at her compassionately. He opened his mouth a few times as if to say something, but would quickly shut it again each time, and Grell couldn't help but think he looked a bit like a fish. She giggled softly despite her efforts, although it sounded more like a moan when it passed through her lips.

"I really am sorry," Eric finally said. He seemed desperate to break the silence between them. "Honestly, I didn't try to pass the disease on to you. I thought I'd get it." He laughed bitterly. "I remember after coming back to the apartment Alan was first cured and looking at my chest. Of course, I didn't see any trace of the Thorns, but I just thought maybe it would come on gradually. Later, when I came by your office with Ronald, I saw how you winced when you put some weight on your wrist. I'd seen Alan do the same thing, so I knew then." He leaned his head against the wall and regarded the high ceiling as he continued. "I tried to deny it. I told myself that you weren't acting as excited as you should be and actually got angry with you. Still, I knew I was lying to myself. When I stopped by to apologize, I was really saying that I was sorry that you had the Thorns because of me. I was still in denial of it though, even after I saw your face. Of course, even lying to yourself has to come to an end at some point."

Grell winced as he came to the end of his rather long confession. "I guess I didn't exactly look my best when I answered the door," she said.

He snorted. "Is that what you're going to focus on?" he asked, "I'm trying to be apologize here. Can't you ever take anything seriously?"

"I can if I want to," she replied, "But since we're being serious, is that part of the reason you act like you hate me? Because I don't take things seriously enough for you?" There was a slight edge to her voice, but she honestly wanted to know the answer.

"I don't hate you," he admitted with a sigh, "Although I do think we have a habit on getting on each other's bad side. Maybe we're just too much alike."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, we both have bad tempers that get the best of us at times, and we both have a tendency to get too caught up in things. It's like we lose our heads. Do you understand?"

"I guess," she answered, conceding that Eric might be right.

Before they could say anything else, William walked back into the room and Grell couldn't help but notice that he was more than a little pale. He was doing his best to hold in any emotions, but it appeared to be a losing battle. In that moment she knew exactly what the council had decided.

She was going to die.

Eric immediately jumped to his feet at the sight of William. "Well, what did they say?" he asked, "What happens next?"

William looked up at him, but shook his head slowly in lieu of any sort of explanation. It hurt Grell to see her beloved looking so lost and without a sign of his usual confidence. She rose slowly to her feet and started to walk towards him in hopes of providing some comfort, but her body betrayed her. Her legs crumpled beneath her and she let out a little cry of surprise as fell, but suddenly William was by her side. He caught her just before she fell and held her upper body in his arms as he sat on the floor. It was so much like the first time when she had collapsed in her office, and Grell was almost startled beyond words. Here she was again in his arms, and it felt good despite the circumstances. "William," she said, her voice sounding hoarse to her own ears, "They've decided, haven't they?"

William nodded and he pushed aside a few strands of hair from her face. The feeling of his fingers grazing her skin was exciting and for a minute Grell considered asking if this was all a dream. Without asking or giving any explanation for his actions, William suddenly removed one of his gloves and began stroking her hair as if she was a cat. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation. Forget asking if this was a dream. If this was all some illusion created by her sleeping mind, she didn't want to wake up any time soon.

After a few minutes, Grell opened her eyes and looked up at him. "William," she began.

"Yes?"

"This almost makes it all worth it." A part of her had guessed at what the council's decision would be as soon as they came here, and she wanted to let William know that she had accepted it. After all, why would he be sitting here stroking her hair if she wasn't about to die.

To her surprise, William's eyes twitched and she saw the most beautiful tear escape his right eye and slide down to rest on his cheek. She was still looking at the tear when he leaned forward and kissed her very gently on the lips.

There were rumors being carried about by far too eager mouths that she was either extremely promiscuous individual who was unable to keep her clothes on around any remotely attractive man, or she was a shy, innocent virgin that couldn't beg someone enough for them to actually touch her. Like most rumors, the truth lay between the two extremes. She had been kissed before, although her lips weren't nearly as active as some would care to believe, but William's kiss was still the best she had ever received. It wasn't greedy or even passionate, but there was a purity to the chaste touch of his mouth. She had been wrong before. This had been all worth it.

Even with her eyes closed, she could see a bright light pierce slightly though her eyelids. It began to surround her body, and she could feel the warmth of the light as it fell upon her skin. She didn't want this to end just yet, but she steadied herself for the inevitable. At least she had been able to enjoy this moment with William before her final moments.

He moved away, but he was still close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. "I only wish that you'll be able to remember this," he whispered, his trembling lips so close to hers.

She wanted to tell him that she could never forget this moment, but it seemed that the times for words had passed. The decision had been made and now it was time to face the consequences.

((X))

Grell awoke suddenly, the remnants of a dream crumbling and fading into nothingness in the morning light, as she sat up in bed. It was a nice dream, whatever it had been, and she still felt so warm and secure. Her lips tingled and there was a touch of moisture on her check. Curious, she brought her fingers to her face and was surprised to find a tear. She didn't think that she had been crying, but had no idea from where the tear might have come.

Not being overly concerned, she put on her glasses as she jumped out of bed. Normally, she despised mornings, but something about this morning felt special and new. She almost felt as if she had been reborn, which was a singularly unusual state of mind for a reaper. Stepping into her bathroom, she greeted her reflection which was happy to see looked especially bright and exuberant today before setting about getting ready for work. With a bounce in her step, she got prepared for the day.

Everything fell into place so easily that Grell actually found herself with time for spare for a change. Humming a happy tune, she started to leave her apartment when something caught her eye lying underneath a nearby desk. Curious, she bent down to retrieve the crumpled piece of paper which she discovered to be a hurried note to William. "When did I write this?" she wondered aloud. It was certainly her handwriting and those were her innermost thoughts scattered upon the page, but she could never imagine being so brutally honest about her feelings. Besides, according to the letter she had asked William directly about a relationship between them, and she was sure she would have remembered if she had done such a thing. Although Grell wasn't prone to drinking except for the occasional glass of wine, but she seriously questioned if she hadn't been drunk when she authored the letter. Now that she considered the matter, she couldn't really remember coming home last night or getting ready for bed. There had been some drinking at the party for Alan, but she couldn't remember taking as much as a single sip. All the events from last night were slightly hazy and muddled, however, so maybe she had drank something after all.

She shook her head slightly and decided to forget the issue for the moment. Besides, it didn't really matter now. Last night was the past and she was really only concerned with the present and the future. Throwing away the crumpled letter, she draped her precious red jacket about her shoulders and made her way to the office.

Ronald seemed surprised to see her as she strolled in casually and confidently. "Wow!" he gasped, dramatically falling out of his chair as if he had been shocked senseless. "You're on time!"

He returned to his chair, and Grell playfully slapped him on the back of the head. "You don't have to sound so surprised," she grumbled, but the smile never left her face.

"Sutcliff," William began, walking up to the two, "I need to speak to you today after working hours."

"Why after hours?" Grell asked, taking a few steps closer and striking a provocative pose, "Is this perhaps the kind of discussion we wouldn't want innocent ears to hear?"

To her surprise, William didn't immediately chastise her for what he usually would have termed inappropriate behavior at work, nor did he look overly upset. "If I'm going to have overtime," he said simply, "Then so are you."

Grell started to ask how she had managed to cause overtime since she had been on desk duty for the past two days, but she paused when she saw William look over her shoulder and an oddly pained look fell across his face. She turned and followed his gaze only to see a rather disheveled Eric standing there. The look in his eyes was enough to break even the coldest heart as he walked slowly to William.

"Something has happened," he announced in a choking voice.

William nodded. "Let's go to my office," he said and then briefly turned back to Grell. "You're to return to field work today. There are assignments on your desk." In his perpetually stoic manner, he turned and walked back towards his office. Eric fell into step behind him, but he shot a sharp look in Grell's direction as he walked past.

"What do you think's going on?" Ronald asked.

Grell shrugged. "I don't know. I hope that Alan hasn't gotten sick again."

"He couldn't be sick again! He looked fine at the party!" cried Ronald, "I mean, I thought he was cured."

"We all did."

"Hey, senior," Ronald began cautiously, "Eric really doesn't like you too much, does he?"

"And I still don't know why!" exclaimed Grell, before turning and providing Ronald with one of her signature poses, "I mean, who doesn't love me?"

Ronald laughed, but there was a still of a touch of uneasiness between them. Despite the way Eric might think of her, Grell was still concerned by his appearance. It would be a shame if Alan hadn't been cured after all, and she knew that it would practically destroy Eric. While she knew that she didn't always show it outwardly, but she did have sympathy for Eric and Alan – although it was tempered with just a touch of jealousy. After all, they had found love and she was still searching.

She walked down the familiar hall and opened the door to her office, but there she paused for just a moment as she looked down at the floor. Some tiny part of her mind insisted that something very important had happened right there with someone else, but she certainly had no memory of any such event. Besides, why would she had been lying on her floor with someone? Pretending to always have her mind firmly rooted in the gutted was finally starting to catch up with her.

Retrieving her assignments she saw that the measles outbreak had ended at last. Her first reaping of the day was a construction worker who was going to fall off of a roof and smash his head on some rocks below. It was bound to be a messy sight, although blood never bothered her. It was just another routine job on another routine day.

It was almost boring.

A/N: As you can see, lovely readers, I didn't kill Grell. What was the council's final decision and how did it affect everything? That will be revealed in the next two chapters.


	10. Chapter 10: No Matter the Cost

Chapter 10: No Matter the Cost

It was a cry, the same cry that Eric had heard only a couple of nights before, which slashed through the relative peace of the night and jerked him out his sleep roughly. The sheets were twisted about his legs like an uncomfortable cocoon and he kicked free desperately as he grabbed his glasses before turning his trembling gaze towards Alan. His mind kept pleading for this to all be some sort of twisted nightmare, but that plea was shattered as his eyes towards the younger reaper.

He was twisting in pain, his left hand clawing at the sheet beneath his body as his right clawed at his chest. Those accursed black lines, the calling card of the Thorns, were back and stood out even more prominently against the pale skin. "No," he moaned, but he in his denial he knew he to act quickly. It was so much like the other night with him jerking on a pair of pants and picking up Alan's agonized body from the bed. This time, however, he grabbed Alan's glasses as he remembered how the smaller reaper had teased him about forgetting the glasses during the first. Running from the apartment to the apartment, his feet slapped on the ground in rhythm with the chanting in his head. Please let this be a nightmare. Please let this be a nightmare.

He rushed through the doors and saw the same brown-haired nurse from before and suddenly remembered that her name was Ruth. He had no idea why he had such trouble remembering a simple name like that, but this was not the time to be wondering about trivialities. She directed him to place Alan in an empty bed as she contacted the doctor. The same scenario as the faithful night replayed itself step by step. Dr. Wells appeared and directed Eric to the waiting area. Sometime later, more medical personal hurried into Alan's room, but Eric did his best to keep himself calm throughout of this. Perhaps, he reasoned, this was just normal after someone was cured of the Thorns. Since it had never happened before, there was no way to know for certain. Maybe this was all normal and he was panicking over nothing.

The moment he saw Dr. Well's face as the physician walked down the hallway to him, he could no longer delude himself. He could barely stand and his eyes began stinging with tears he was almost too hurt to cry as the doctor approached him.

"Mr. Slingby," Dr. Wells said, "I'm very sorry. It appears that the Thorns have returned and young Mr. Humphries is very sick. He's recovering from his latest attack, but he's sadly living on borrowed time now."

"No," Eric said, jumping forward and grabbing the doctor by the collar of his jacket. "You said he'd be okay! You said he was cured!"

Dr. Wells didn't seemed to be surprised at Eric's outburst as his broad face melted into a look of compassion. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "As I stated before, we had no way to know for sure, but I truly hoped that we'd seen the end of his sickness." He gently removed Eric's hands from his jacket. "You can see him now, but he doesn't need to see you angry. It would only upset him."

The doctor's words managed to pierce through his hurt fueled anger, and Eric took a step back. His shoulders slumped slightly as if defeated, and he felt extremely weak, but he nodded as he struggled to keep his face calm. Dr. Wells seemed satisfied with this and silently led him back to Alan's room.

Instead of sitting up happy and smiling, Alan was leaning heavily on a couple of pillows, although his pale face did light up somewhat when Eric stepped into the room. "Eric," he said, reaching out his hand. The I.V. tube, which looked like a tiny, clear snake with its fangs deeply embedded in his slender hand, followed his movements. "I guess I wasn't as healthy as I thought." He laughed softly.

"Maybe this is just a minor setback," Eric suggested as he took the offered hand. "By tomorrow, you might feel like your old self again." Even as the words left his mouth, he knew that it was a lie. They both knew the truth.

"I don't think so," Alan replied. He blinked a few times, his weak eyes looking directly into Eric's face. "But I'm thankful I've had these few days where I felt like I used to – days I got to spend with you."

The tears that refused to fall ached in Eric's eyes again. He wanted to say something that could comfort his love, but he had no idea what he could say. Before he had too long to ponder this, Dr. Wells stepped back in the room.

"Mr. Humphries needs his rest," he said gently, "And we're going to be moving him to a room once again. It will take some time, so it might be best for you to leave. I'm sure Mr. Humphries will need a few things from home."

"But," Eric began helplessly.

"It's okay," Alan agreed, "Besides, it looks like you need to talk to William again." He sighed softly as his eyes drifted to the floor. Despite his brave words, Eric knew that he regretted falling ill again. Anyone would, but it broke Eric's heart to see him in this shape.

Finally Eric reluctantly nodded and turned to slowly walk away. He looked back at Alan, whom seemed to be already drifting asleep. No doubt this attack had left him exhausted. Feeling emotionally drained, he left the hospital and returned to their apartment.

It seemed so empty here without Alan. The fake sunrise was beginning to highlight the room in its artificial glow, but this no longer seemed like his home. It was the set for some tragic play, but it had no substance. It wasn't tangible. It wasn't real. His nightmare of Alan's sickness, however, was all too real. Automatically, he began to get dressed, although this time he was careful to put his pajamas in the hamper. He didn't want Alan coming back to a dirty home.

As he dressed automatically, his eye fell upon an item dully gleaming setting on the stand by Alan's side of the bed. At the party the night before, Ronald had given the silver cup to Alan as a celebration of his new health. He explained that he had given the typical gift presented at a child's christening because he wanted to christen Alan's brand new life. Everyone had laughed at the present, and Alan had been truly touched by the sentiment. The placement of the cup suggested as much, although Eric was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. He knew that Alan had gotten home before him because he had wanted to stay later and clean up after the party, but he realized he had no actual memory of going home and getting ready for bed, although that didn't matter at this moment.

The cup simply set there, winking at him almost as if mocking his current situation. The anger rose up in Eric hot and thick, and he stormed over to the side of bed. With a roar, he grabbed the cup and spun around to throw it forcefully across the room. It slammed into the wall with a dull thud, cracking the wood, as the cup bounced onto the floor. Bent from the throw, the cup rolled clumsily and disappeared underneath a dresser.

His anger fueled energy spent, Eric collapsed to the floor and cried heavily. The tears which had been threatening since finding Alan sick finally broke free and ran down his face in torrents. His body heaved with the force of the crying, but it didn't relieve his heartbreak. His hurt was far too deep for any amount of tears to ever wash away.

After several minutes, the tears finally passed, but his body still jerked as if trying to wring out the last few. He struggled to his feet and carefully packed a few things for Alan and set the suitcase by the door. He had no desire to walk into dispatch with a suitcase in his hand, and he would have to pass the apartment again on the way to the hospital. Struggling to keep his face calm, he silently made his way to the office.

As he stepped inside the main area, he heard Grell and Ronald talking, and a part of him bristled at the ease of their casual conversation. He made his way closer and heard William say that Grell was going to have to see him after work just as he stepped into view. William quickly made eye contact with him, and Grell also turned around to look.

"Something has happened," Eric said. He was surprised at the hoarseness of his own voice but guessed that it had been caused by crying.

William nodded. "Let's go to my office," he said and then briefly turned to Grell. "You're to return to field work today. There are assignments on your desk." With that said, he turned and walked towards his office as Eric followed behind. As he stepped past, he looked at Grell briefly and rising anger caused his glance to turn into an angry glare. He had no idea why he should feel any rage towards the redhead, but some part of him couldn't help but feel like somehow Grell had a part in all of this mess.

Stepping inside William's office, Eric shut the door and turned to face his supervisor. "Alan's sick again," he said without any sort of preamble. He was struggling to keep from crying as he told William about the situation. "I had to rush him to the hospital last night. The doctor said that the Thorns has come back." He let out a long breath that he hadn't even been aware that he had been holding.

William didn't look particularly surprised, but there was some compassion on his normally cold face. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said, "Is he still in the hospital?"

"Yeah," Eric answered, "I don't know how long he's going to be there. I packed some clothes for him." He bit his lip to keep it from trembling.

"Well, tell him not to worry about how long he needs to recover. I'll fill out all the necessary paperwork," William stated, "And I can see that you need to take today off as well."

"Won't that leave you too shorthanded?" Eric asked, although in all honesty he didn't care about their workloads.

"We are shorthanded, but we can manage," William replied. His face softened slightly. "Go on to Alan. He needs you and I think you need to be with him."

Eric almost managed a smile. "Thanks," he said. He was genuinely grateful at William's words because he knew that the dispatch supervisor was not a compassionate man by nature. While offering days off may seem minor, it was the best way for William to show that he actually worried about Alan's well-being. Quietly, he left William's office and found himself in a rather empty hallway. It was fitting because he was alone. Alan was all he truly had and, once he lost him, he'd be forever alone.

Choking back his tears, he left dispatch and headed back towards the apartment to pick up the suitcase before heading back to the hospital. Outside, everything looked so cheerful and happy, and Eric found himself hating it all. Their realm should be in mourning. The sky should be ebony and, despite the fact there was no real weather here, it should be a nasty down pouring of rain. He shouldn't be the only one screaming and raging. Everything should share his pain.

As he looked up at the falsely cheerful blue expanse of sky, a promise formed in his heart. No matter what, he would find a way to save Alan. He would find a way.

No matter the cost.


	11. Dealing with the Decisions

William was in his office just as he was every morning, it was his routine after all, but he wasn't sitting at his desk going through his paperwork. Instead, he was standing at the large window that stretched along the wall behind his desk. His office commanded an excellent view of their realm, but he had never really taken the time consider it until now. Perhaps it was time for him to appreciate all the things he had taken for granted.

As he stood there, his eyes scanning over the horizon, his mind was back in that dimly lit room where he had stood before the council. He had known they would make the best decision logically, but the entire time he had found himself uncharacteristically wondering if the logical decision would necessarily be the best course of action. There was still some time before his field agents would arrive, so William allowed his mind to wander back to the meeting and all that had happened there.

((X))

The whispers and murmurs, which had filled and dominated the darkened room slowly faded. The same faceless speaker that had spoken to him before leaned forward, but his face still refused to touch the light. "William T. Spears," he began, "As I stated before, it is too dangerous to turn back time. Too many would be affected and even the minutest alterations can have devastating effects. Also, it has been fated that a reaper inflicted with the Thorns must die. However, what the angel attempted to change must also stay as it was intended. A reaper will be reborn as an angel, therefore Sutcliff cannot be the one to die. He is unsuited to become an angel because of past deeds. The Thorns of Death will be returned to the reaper Humphries so that the predestined order will be restored.

"Furthermore," he continued, "Time itself shall not be altered, but will be changed are the memories of the two reapers sitting outside this room. They will not remember their dealings with the angel nor will they remember Sutcliff being sick."

"Isn't it unwise to alter memories?" William asked.

"Usually it is, but it is the past course of action in this instance," came the immediate answer, "We will not be changing their view of the events. We will simply be changing what they remember. Sutcliff will not remember ever being sick nor will he remember anything that happened in direct correlation with his illness. He will forget that he was here. Likewise, Slingby will forget any details of Sutcliff having the disease. Both will simply remember that the reaper currently infected with the Thorns had seemingly been cured only to learn it was a brief remission. Any events and occurrences that are directly related the angel or the passing along of the disease will be forgotten. Altered versions of this time period will fill in most of the gaps. Soon after we adjourn here, the reapers will be transported back to their homes, their memories altered as they travel. They will go home and prepare for bed as usual. When they will awaken, the process of memory alteration will be complete. Do you think this is satisfactory?"

"It is the most logical course of action," William conceded, although his mind was screaming that it wasn't right. Grell and Eric shouldn't have to face the risk of complications from altering memories just because some angel had interfered. "May I ask why my memories aren't going to be altered?"

"There is no reason. You are both logical and reasonable. We are confident that you will not reveal what has happened, although if we have any reason to lose this confidence, we will waste no time in changing your own perceptions of the recent events. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir. I thank you for your confidence." William replied through gritted teeth. He had no desire for the council to start messing with his mind, but he didn't think it was particularly fair that both Grell and Eric were about to have their memories altered and replaced. Besides, he wasn't completely confident that it would completely correct the situation. After all, Undertaker knew most of the story as well, but William wasn't about to offer up that little piece of information.

"Very good," stated the shadowed council member, "You may go on out to be with your subordinates, although they will soon be transported back to their own apartments. Do not say anything concerning our decision. Although it shouldn't affect the alteration of their memories, it's still best not to take any unnecessary chances."

"Thank you," William repeated before turning and leaving the room. Grell and Eric were waiting for him, and he could see the eager anticipation glimmering their eyes. He wanted to tell them, but he still didn't dare go against the council.

((X))

It wasn't a pleasant memory, and William found himself almost wishing that he had forgotten it along with Grell and Eric. At the same time, he cherished the memories of those minutes he had spent with Grell; running his fingers through that glorious hair and the gentle kiss they had shared. He also remembered Grell's courage when he had accepted what he thought had been is death sentence, and he marveled at it. For so long, William had thought the old Grell he had known back when they were in the academy had faded beneath the makeup and outrageous behavior, but that same old spirit was still present and it burned just as brightly as ever. William was happy that his old friend was still there. Perhaps, he was something even more than a friend.

And Grell had forgotten it all.

By altering all memories that had to do with him being sick, Grell had no doubt forgotten asking William directly if there had been a chance for them, the heartfelt letter he had written and handed to him just before William had gone in to see the council, and that kiss they had shared as Grell lay in his arms. All those events had been directly tied to the fact that Grell had thought he had been dying, and were no doubt the first memories that had been erased.

Turning, Will saw Grell's letter lying innocently on his desk and he picked up the letter to read it one more time.

_My Dear William,_

_I've written this letter a dozen times, and it never seems to come out right. I'm usually so good with words, or I'm able to at least borrow some from a play or poem, but none of it seems fitting. Perhaps I just need to say what I need to without worrying about flowery descriptions or lyrical phrases._

_Will, I love you._

_I know how plain that sounds, but it is the simple truth. I've loved you for a long time. In fact, you're the only man I've ever loved. I know I flirt a lot, and it seemed like I'm always throwing myself after one handsome face after another, but please know that I wasn't serious. I wanted to be noticed, and I liked playing the role of the self-confident woman. It wasn't true._

_Sometimes, I did things wrong just so you would yell at me. That way I could be happy with the fact that you at least noticed I was still there. I lied to myself thinking that maybe if I could just get you to look at me, then one day you would return my love. I know now that it was all foolish. When I confessed my true feelings to you, I knew the answer before you even spoke. I am sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable, but I'm not sorry that I loved you._

_Loving you is one thing I'll never regret. It wasn't a mistake. Even though I see now you could never have loved me in return, I would have loved your regardless._

_Grell_

William had read the letter many times, but it still tugged at his heart. It was the most honest he had ever seen Grell express himself, and he couldn't help but wonder if it was all still the truth. Would Grell say the same things if given a chance now that he was in danger? Of course, the better question was if William would have the courage to be honest with his feelings. When he had thought he was losing Grell, it had been easier to show emotion. In a weird way, Grell not remembering everything that had happened was a perfect escape route for him. William could not say a word and everything would simply return to status quo. However, William didn't want thing to return to how they were before nor did he think it was entirely possible. While Grell may not have any memories of those events, William did and it had changed him.

As if on cue, he heard the loud clack of Grell's heels in the hall and was mildly surprised that he was on time for once. Refolding the letter and placing it inside his jacket, he made his way out of his office just as Grell walked up to Ronald.

It appeared that he wasn't the only one surprised by Grell's timely appearance. "Wow!" Ronald gasped, "You're on time for once."

Grell, who looked so radiantly full of life that morning, walked over and smacked the younger reaper on the back of the head in a playful manner. "You don't have to be so surprised," he retorted, but the smile on his face gave testimony that he wasn't annoyed.

"Sutcliff," William began, walking up to the two, "I need to speak to you today after working hours." It wasn't what he wanted to say. Getting Grell to come to his office after else was gone was simply a pretext, but he wanted a chance to talk to the redhead candidly.

"Why after hours?" Grell asked, as he struck a pose, "Is this perhaps the kind of discussion we wouldn't want innocent ears to hear?"

Grell had no idea how close he had come to the truth with his suggestion, and William had trouble composing an answer. "If I'm going to have overtime," he finally managed, "Then so are you."

Before Grell could respond, Eric walked into view and William felt his pale slightly when he saw how ragged the tall reaper appeared. He had known while standing before the council that there could be no completely good outcome for the situation. No matter what had been decided, one reaper was destined to die eventually. He couldn't help but feel more than a little guilt that he was thankful that it wasn't Grell since that meant Alan had to fall ill once more, but that was something over which he had no control. Eric walked over to them and William could tell he had been crying.

"Something has happened," Eric said, his voice choking slightly.

William nodded. "Let's go to my office," he said and then briefly turned back to Grell. "You're to return to field work today. There are assignments on your desk." He tried to sound like his typical, no-nonsense self but he wasn't sure how well he managed.

Walking back to his office with Eric following close behind, the same guilt surfaced. Eric was losing his love, and William had been excited about possibly finding one. At the same time he recognized that he had nothing to be guilty over. He had not chosen for Alan to be sick over Grell. That had been the council's decision and not his. Of course, he couldn't say what his decision would have been had it been all left up to him.

Eric closed the door behind him as William turned to face him. The pain etched into Eric's face tore into his heart, but the feeling of Grell's letter inside his jacket reminded him that even at the most depressing endings there are beginnings to be found.

He would deal with this situation as best as he could and, after work, he would talk to Grell. While he couldn't admit what had happened, he could at least be honest and open about his emotions.

He only hoped that he had the courage.

The End

A/N: And so ends my first Kuro multi-chapter fanfic. I hope that everyone enjoyed it. There are a few notes I wanted to add here.

· I posted the last three chapters at the same time because I was afraid that people would lose interest when I revealed that I hadn't killed Grell (nor had I any intention of doing so in THIS story). I also was afraid people might assume it had all been a dream.

· William thinking about how Undertaker knew most of the story but not mentioning it to the council was because I had forgotten about it. I originally said that only Will, Grell, and Eric knew but then I realized that Undertaker did know most if not all of the story. In my original outline, Undertaker wasn't in the story and William doesn't learn about the angel until he goes before the council.

· Chapters 3 and 4 are meant to illustrate chaos and order and how they intermingle. Grell is chaos, but the thought patterns actually become more orderly as the chapter progresses. Chapter 4 is William's POV and he identifies with order, but his thoughts become more chaotic as the chapter draws to a close.


End file.
